Mirror's Image
by TheViewFromTheAfternoon
Summary: Curly Shepard was a tough, cool, hard as nails Tim in miniature. Everyone said it. And normally that suited him just fine, since all he'd ever wanted was to be more like Tim. Until now. Because now he's left with no other option, Curly's not so sure it's what he wants after all.
1. Chapter 1

**One**

 _September 1965_

"Yeah well, everyone always knew Winston would end up dead sooner or later. Anyone else get hurt in the fighting?"

Angela's not the best person to get information out of, never quite sure how much is true and how much is exaggeration with her. But right now she's my only option.

So as she carries on answering my questions about the rumble, I glance left and right, trying not to turn my head and make it too obvious I'm scoping the place out. Because it doesn't do to relax too much in here. Tim taught me that much.

 _ _Make sure you figure out_ what's what, what's going on in your surroundings, when the guards ain't looking. Don't let anyone think you're soft, some kind of pushover._

Can practically hear him saying it, standing there in front of my ten year old self the day he first came back from reformatory. Ma scolding him for putting ideas in my head because there was no way I was going to turn out like him. Shows how much she knew.

Tim's voice might have been cool, and monotone, that tone he always used when he was telling people what to do, the one that made everyone take note and do whatever the hell he said. But thinking about the flicker of disappointment in his eyes when he told me it all over again, on that day I first got sent here a couple years later, still makes my skin crawl. 'Cause there were no two ways about it. By getting caught by the cops I'd let him down. Again.

I fiddle with the phone cord, push away the image of Tim. Least I know this time around that he's not mad at me for getting locked up. That in being here I actually did something useful to him for once.

Instead I focus back on the sound of Angela's breathless chatter on the other end of the line as she imparts her update about all that happened at the rumble. The one I missed out on account of getting sent back here.

"Shame about that Cade kid though," I interrupt, an uneasy feeling growing in my gut as the gaggle of guys hovering around the corridor edge a little closer to me. "Didn't ever say much but Curtis always said he was tough. So he must've been all right."

"Yeah. But that ain't even the worst thing that's happened," my sister continues, her voice getting more and more high pitched like she's building up to another one of her dramatic stories. "You'll never guess what else—"

"Jesus, Ange, what in hell could be worse than some kid dying? I don't have a lot of time and I ain't interested in all your gossip. Tim there?"

"No. He's..." She pauses, sniffles a little.

"What, you two fallen out again?" I can't help myself but laugh. Seems like they spend every spare minute arguing lately. Sooner Angela learns to keep her head down and stop winding him up all the damn time the better. "What d'you do this time?"

"Nothing."

"You sure? He find out you've been lifting his booze or something?"

"No, I haven't touched it, though I might later."

I roll my eyes but don't say nothing, don't give her the satisfaction of thinking she's getting to me. Probably what Tim should do too, only somehow he always lets her push his buttons, gives her the reaction she's hoping for with her antics. "Got a new boyfriend he don't approve of?"

"Yeah, right, like anyone stands a chance of living up to his standards. But it ain't that. Me and Tim haven't had a fight about nothing, because he's not here. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Tim's been arrested."

"And everyone says I'm the dumb one," I mutter, chuckling to myself. Because although I don't say it to Angela I know it can't be anything serious. On account of the fact that the one thing they were trying to pin on Tim is the reason I'm in here. And I'm pretty sure he won't have let the River Kings get the better of him twice. So it's probably nothing more than a drunk and disorderly, or a busted taillight. Some asshole cop trying to prove a point and keeping him in the cells for a couple of nights. "Most likely he'll be home in a day or so and you'll be moaning about how he's getting on your nerves."

Angela sniffs again. "Yeah, I guess."

"What'd he get picked up for anyway?"

"Don't know. Ma won't tell me. Just sits there and every time I try to ask her she starts up crying again and don't seem to make a lot of sense. She seems in a real state about it since she got the call to tell her. Just gives me a real bad feeling, Curly, like he's really in trouble this time."

"Like that's anything unusual for Ma. When is she ever not in a state?"

"But—"

"But nothing, Angela. You know I'm right, nothing bad ever happens to Tim." It's not strictly true, but I also know it's what she needs to hear, so I carry on, hoping I sound like I mean it. "Tim always comes out of everything smelling of roses, doesn't he? So how about you cheer up?"

I've got maybe two more minutes left before my phone time is up, can hear the guys talking as they loiter behind me, their voices low. Can't make out exactly what they're saying, but I'm pretty sure I've heard my name, which don't exactly strike me as being a good thing.

I hear Angela swallow, like she's trying to compose herself, and I hope to God she don't start crying. "Yeah okay. So are they feeding you alright in there?"

"Yeah, it ain't bad, better than your cooking anyway."

I pause for a second, run a hand across my freshly cropped hair, relieved to hear her laugh, just a little, at my lame attempt at a joke.

The group of guys are a couple feet away from me now. Even if I didn't remember seeing them before, I can't miss the identical tattoos on each of their forearms, marking them as Tiber Street. And if I recognise them then it's a sure thing they know exactly who I am too.

Scanning the other faces in the corridor I'm kinda disappointed not to recognise anyone. Ryan Lang from our gang's still in here, and there's a couple of Brumly boys who I might be able to count on to back me if things get messy. But they're all in the other dormitory block so it doesn't exactly help me none right now. But at least there's only three of 'em that seem like they're looking for trouble. And I reckon I can put up a good enough fight to hold them off until the dozy guards notice what's going on and put a stop to it.

"Listen, Ange. I gotta go. Tell Ma I'm fine, and try not to let her upset you, yeah?"

Don't hear no more though, the dial tone replacing her voice as my time runs out.

Cracking my knuckles I turn and grin at the three boys standing close behind me.

"What's up, Benny?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow at him. "You lost or something?"

The middle one of the three is Benny Douglas, who fancies himself as something special, thinks he's a real hard man. And I reckon he's the only one I really need to worry about. The other two are pretty scrawny looking, but I've run into Douglas before, back when Tim had that falling out with Tiber Street. So I'm pretty sure he ain't interested in a fair fight.

"Nah, Shepard. Just here to set a few ground rules, make sure you understand what's what. Before you start getting ideas above your station. I'm in charge here. So you and your sorry excuse for a gang don't count for shit in here."

Turns out I can't come up with anything smart to say in reply. Settle instead for swinging a punch at him, satisfied at least that I manage to get the first blow in. And even though I won't win against the three of them, I still grin to myself as his nose cracks beneath my fist and blood runs down his face.

 **~oOo~**

 _October 1965_

"What you got there, Shepard?" Douglas smirks as he grabs the sheet of paper out of my hand, turning it over and reading the signature. "Angel? Don't tell me some girl is stupid enough to want to write to a loser like you."

"Fuck off, Douglas." I lurch to grab the paper back, desperate to finish reading it, to find out all she's got to say. It's something bad, about Tim, but I haven't got far enough into it to find out exactly what's gone wrong. And I sure as hell don't want that Tiber street asshole to have read it before me.

He jerks the paper back, holds it up high over his head. And he's got a couple inches on me, so it's just out of my reach. "What's it worth? Or maybe we should all read it?"

"Grow up, asshole, she's my kid sister."

Douglas smirks at me. "Sister, girlfriend, probably the same thing with the inbreds you hang with."

Douglas starts up laughing, his buddies joining in with him, gives me the edge I need to launch myself at him and snatch the crumpled page back from between his fingers. I quickly scrunch it into a ball, shove it deep in my jeans pocket. Out of sight, but safe. And then I swing at him.

Pretty sure Tim would be proud of me right now, yet another of his nuggets of wisdom about reformatory popping into my mind.

 _...don't ever back away from a fight. You don't need anyone thinking you're an easy target. Fight them enough and they'll soon move on to someone else..._

Don't seem to be working yet with Douglas though. Seems like every other day he's trying to start something with me. But I ain't giving up. Not yet. Because if it worked for Tim then it'll work for me too. Least I hope it will. Because what if Tim did alright because he's, well, Tim and not me. Shaking myself I try to ignore my self-doubt along with the throbbing in my already-bruised ribs and throw another punch at Douglas.

By the time the guards separate us this time my knuckles are split and bleeding, my jaw is aching and my left eye is swollen half-shut. But at least Douglas looks as bad—if not maybe a bit worse—than I do.

Don't risk looking at my letter again until late afternoon. I'm sat on my bunk, just got out of that boring as hell school room where I don't have the first clue what the woman is talking about as she makes us read page after page as she talks and talks and no one listens. No one says anything because no one is gonna bother to answer any of her questions—and there's a guard sat in the corner of the room to make sure none of us give her any lip, give us a thrashing if we do. Got five minutes before we have to head down the canteen for dinner and it should be enough time. Start at the beginning again.

 _Curly,_

 _Thought I'd write this because I'm not sure when they'll let you call home again. And anyway I don't want to tell you on the phone. 'Cause I'd probably only start crying and then you'd laugh at me. Don't want you thinking I'm a baby or nothing._ _But everything's gone wrong and I don't know what to do._

 _This time it's really bad. Tim's gone, Curly. For maybe three years._

 _Ma won't barely get out of bed since they sent him away. Think the last time she got dressed was when I made her go down the courthouse Thursday so we would know what was happening and ever since she's been taking even more of her pills than normal._

Three years. Tim must be mad as all hell. I let the page rest down on my lap and pick at the scabs on my left knuckles. Guess they must be sending him to County, on account of the fact he's eighteen, almost nineteen now. Wonder what they sent him down for.

 _Me and Ma was sat there in the court room, while the judge read out his sentence. Ma was wailing and sobbing, had a hell of a job trying to get her home again on the bus, 'cause Harry wouldn't drive us. Said he wasn't taking no time out of work for Tim and losing money, 'cause Tim deserves whatever he got on account of being just like dad. I told him to shut his trap and for a second I thought he was going to slap me. Only Ma started up yelling at him too, threw a plate at his head, so I guess I had a narrow escape. And really, with how it turned out I'm glad he wasn't there in the courthouse because he wouldn't have had nothing good to say about Tim if he was._

Wish Angela would get to the damn point. Don't much care about hearing about our stepdad, I'm already well aware that he's a jerk. Just want to get to the bottom of whatever the hell is going on with Tim. Find myself wishing for the first time ever that I'd paid more attention in school. 'Cause I can read all right. It ain't that I can't. Only I'm not the fastest. Not like Curtis, always sat there with his nose in a book. Or Tim. Tim who does a good impression of being some dumb punk but is probably the smartest guy I know, and I'm not saying that 'cause he's my brother. Although maybe if he's in as much trouble as Angela is saying then he isn't so clever after all.

 _The judge said he was making an example of him, that he was getting tough on crime. They said Tim shot someone, some store clerk. But that's all bull, 'cause Tim didn't have a gun, did he?_

 _Anyway. They're jailing him, Curly. Three years. At McAlester._

Shit. Shit. Shit. County would be bad enough but McAlester's a whole 'nother ballgame. Everybody knows it.

 _How am I going to manage for five more months without you both? Ma's losing it. Worse I can remember ever. Worse even than when Tim was in the hospital that time. And what if Tim's not alright? These soc bitches in my English class were talking on how they read in the paper that people get stabbed and hurt all the time in the state pen. And I know they were just trying to get at me, but what if it's true and something bad does happen to him?_

The bell rings and a guard barks out some instructions to us. But I don't move, not yet. Not when there's only a couple lines left for me to read.

 _So I know it ain't cool or nothing Curly, but please don't get yourself in no more trouble while you're there. Hell, if Dallas Winston can get out early on a good behaviour then I'm pretty sure you could if you tried. Ma's always so much better when you're here. Come home soon._

 _Angel_

"Hey, Shepard! Wake up!" The weasel-faced guard grabs me by the scruff of my shirt, yanks me to my feet. I try to shrug him off, just manage to resist the temptation to shove him away. Could take him easily, have fought bigger guys plenty times before. But then that'd only mean some punishment. And that sure as hell won't help me get out of here.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going. Pushing Angela's letter back in my pocket I fall into the line, automatically file through the corridors until somehow I end up in the mess hall, my tin tray of food untouched in front of me as my mind races, turning everything over and over as I try to make sense of everything Angela's told me.

How in hell did Tim wind up in there? Must be another set up, 'cause there's no way he'd shoot someone, is there? Dumb fucking idiot, thinking he was invincible, untouchable.

I should've let Tim take the rap for turning over that liquor store instead of taking the blame. 'Cause if I had then he'd be on a short stretch in county jail, not locked up in McAlester for three years. And I'd be at home so Angela wouldn't be left coping with Ma on her own.

So maybe it's all my fault and this is what I get for thinking, for trying to do the right thing and make Tim proud of me, make him think I can be as useful to the gang as everyone else.

When all that's happened is I've managed to screw everything up. Again.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this - please let me know what you think :)


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Hi, I just want to say a huge thank you to everyone who's been reading, and for all the reviews, follows and favourites. I really appreciate it! Hope you enjoy this chapter too :)

* * *

 **Two**

 _November 1965_

"You seem to be doing really well this time around, Curly, putting in some effort, staying out of trouble. Better than the last time you were here anyway." The man behind the desk leans forward a little and smiles at me. "So tell me, truthfully, when was the last time you were involved in a fight?"

I'm doing my best not to fidget as I sit here on a hard chair in the office of Mr Warner, the reformatory counsellor, trying to figure out why I've been called back here today. Ain't like I've been caught doing anything I shouldn't lately.

"I dunno. Mr—Brad. Not for ages." I shrug at him. He doesn't like for us to call him Mr Warner, says to everyone that he prefers it if we call him Brad. 'Cause Brad is one of those hand-wringing do-gooders who thinks he understands shit, that he's just like us, as he sits there in his corduroy pants and hideous patterned shirt. Dumb hippie wouldn't last five minutes if he walked into our neighbourhood. And yet he still carries on like he actually believes we're friends or something, likes to make out that he's on my side and how it's cool for him to call me Curly instead of my proper name like everyone else in here goes for.

"Seriously? You can't be any more specific than that?"

"Um...Last month, maybe?" I suggest, starting to rub at my bruised knuckles, quickly folding my arms when I realise what I'm doing.

Because that's not strictly true.

The last fight I was in was the day before yesterday. Not with the Tiber Street crowd for once. This time it was some guy I ain't run into before. Some loser from across town who doesn't really run with any particular gang. And not over anything more than him pushing past me in the yard earlier that day either. Stupid really but it ain't something I could let slide. So I bided my time and the next chance I got I broke his nose.

I'm pretty certain the other kid ain't gonna squeal. Not if he's got any sense anyway. Which means that the guards, and Brad, don't know that it was me. Or that I've been fighting pretty regular. Least I don't think they do. I'm trying to use my head a bit more; remember that it's okay to wait and pick my moment instead of instantly blowing up over every little thing. Because there's always somewhere you can use to your advantage to settle a score if you need to. Like the far side of the exercise yard or the corridor between the dormitories and the bathrooms—places that get crowded, or have enough dark corners that the guards can't see what's going down until it's too late.

Not that I'm gonna tell Brad any of that. Instead I carry on staring at the picture on the wall above his shoulder, wishing there was a clock so I had some idea what the time was. Feels like I've been here for hours already.

"Yeah?" He scans the notes in the brown card file in front of him. "Seems like you've been making some progress then?"

"I guess so."

"And you'll carry on, try to keep out of trouble, stick with school? Once you get out of here and go home I mean?"

"Sure." I nod. I know the rules. I gotta say whatever the hell bullshit he wants to hear, if I want to have even the tiniest chance of getting out of this place before the end of my sentence.

"Because if I recommend you for early release, on account of your good behaviour…well, I don't want to see you back in here again a couple of months down the line, sitting in that chair, telling me the same old crap." Brad shifts in his chair, runs a hand through his long, lank hair as he stares at me, like he's trying to read my mind or something.

"No, sir, I don't got no wish to come back here. And anyway, I need to get home to take care of my Ma, and my sister."

"And why d'you think that's your responsibility, Curly?" He picks up a pencil, begins to scribble on the sheet of paper he's pulled from my file. "Surely your mother should be looking after you?"

Could kick myself. Tim always says I need to think more before I open my big mouth. And now I've gone and blurted out the wrong thing, told Brad too much. Because now he's expecting me to say more and I can't just sit here not speaking. But it don't feel right, telling him the truth about my Ma. Figure I'll try to keep it brief, give him enough of an explanation that he'll think I'm opening up to him. Let him believe I trust him.

"That's what family's supposed to do, ain't it? Help each other out?"

Only he doesn't seem to be letting it go. "And so now you feel guilty for being here, instead of at home where you can do that?"

I find myself staring at the backs of my hands again, at the purple-black bruises staining my skin, and I think maybe it don't matter what I say, because maybe Tim's wrong and keeping quiet isn't the best idea after all. Not if I do want to get out of here like Angela needs me to. Maybe I ought to be laying it on thick, making him feel really sorry for me.

Open my mouth to speak and shut it again—torn between spilling everything and telling him to go to hell and keep his nose out of stuff that's none of his business. Wish Tim was here with me, 'cause he'd know exactly the right thing to say. Settle instead for shrugging my shoulders at Warner yet again, aiming for some kind of middle ground, hoping that by telling him something he'll think I'm cooperating like he wants me to. "Well, someone's gotta do it, 'cause we sure as shit can't depend on Harry for nothing. So that don't leave no one else bit me. My Ma's too sick to work no more and my sister's just a kid."

"And what about your brother?"

"What about him?"

"Well, you didn't mention him. So why is it your problem, Curly, and not his?"

I swallow down the hard knot that's forming in the back of my throat. "He can't...I mean...well, he ain't around at the moment."

"Ah, yes." He scans my file again. "I see your brother's been in some trouble too? That he's currently in jail himself?"

I squirm a little in my chair, try to ignore the sick feeling I get whenever I think about whether Tim is alright in that place. Remind myself not to be stupid, because he'll be fine. He always is. He's Tim Shepard.

"Still," Brad continues, more to himself than me, "maybe your brother not being at home isn't necessarily a bad thing. Seems like he's not exactly been a good influence on you over the years. Maybe with Timothy out of the picture for a while things will be a little easier for you, give you a chance to focus on finishing school, instead of doing his dirty work." And then he looks up, peers over the top of his thick framed glasses. "Couple more weeks and you'll have done three of your six months, won't you?

In my head, I'm yelling at him to shut the fuck up, and go to hell, because he don't know the first thing about Tim, how me and Ange would most likely be in a foster home by now if it wasn't for him, 'cause he's the one who's had to hold everything together since the old man died. Instead I scowl at Warner, grunt out a reply. "Yeah."

"So here's the deal, Curly, you stay out of trouble for another week. No fighting or scrapping. Not one foot out of place. You manage to do that and next week at our meeting then I'll recommend you for an early release."

"Yeah, right. Course you will." Guy must think I'm an idiot. Pretty obvious he hasn't got no power around here, the way the guards all sneer at him when they bring me along to his office.

"No, Curly. I give you my word. Not everyone is out to get you. Sooner you believe that the better. And really, what have you got to lose by trusting me?"

 **~oOo~**

"So word is there ain't no Shepard gang no more."

From the corner of my eye I can see Benny Douglas smirking at me over the pile of breakfast dishes he's supposed to be washing. But I don't look up, or even let on that I can hear him. Instead I pick up another potato from the the never ending mountain next to me and focus on peeling it. When I first got moved in here I thought kitchen duty would be alright, better than being stiffed with scrubbing stinking toilets and muddy floors anyway. Turns out it's just as dull though. And it's got a whole lot more irritating since that Tiber Street asshole managed to get himself transferred in here too.

"Yeah, the talk is your brother got himself into a real mess, thinking he was some big shot, that he could ever be a match for the River Kings. And without him around the rest of 'em are spending most of their time fighting and falling out with each other over who's gonna be top dog. Guess being a loser really does run in the family, hey?"

I drop the potato into the large pan of cold water so the water splashes up, a few drops spilling over the edge. But instead of reaching for the next one like I ought to, I set down the peeler on the chopping board, clench my red-raw hands into fists. Right now all I want is to punch that smug grin off of his face as he carries on talking trash about Tim.

Take a step back from the counter, check out where the guards are—too busy chin-wagging in the corner, not looking this way. You'd think they'd pay more attention what with the fact there's plenty in here I could use to hurt someone if it took my fancy. But there again I don't suppose they really care if we take each other out, so long as it ain't them getting hurt.

I wheel around to finally glare at Douglas as he steps up, jabbing me in the chest and laughing in my face.

But as I draw back my fist, it's not his voice that's echoing round my head, it's Angela's. That last phone call I got to make home a couple weeks back. The way she put on such a good act of sounding upbeat, like everything was fine. Not really telling me anything though, glossing over every question I asked and prattling on about shit that's happened at school that she knows full well neither of us give a damn about. Only she forgets how well I know her; that despite what she might think she ain't quite so good as Tim yet at hiding how she really feels. So I don't need to be standing right in front of her to be able to tell when she's keeping from me.

And what if Douglas is right and the gang's falling apart? Need to get out of here and take care of that too, prove to Tim that I can step up if I need to.

Plus tomorrow is the day I'm supposed to go back and see Warner. And what if he hasn't been bullshitting me all this time and he really can get me out of here? Don't want to blow that for the sake of one lousy day.

Sighing, I let my hand drop down by my side and back away from Benny Douglas.

"What's the matter, Shepard?" Douglas taunts, shoving me in the back so I stumble forwards, sending the pan of potatoes crashing to the concrete floor, water everywhere. "You dumb as well as stupid? Or are you just some fucking pussy, too scared to put up a fight?"

Takes all my willpower to stay where I am and not go and knock the prick on his ass, like he deserves. Still can't think of nothing clever to say back to him though, so instead I raise my right hand and flip him off, before kneeling down to scoop the scattered potatoes back into the empty pan.

One more day. I can hold it together that long. Either way it's gonna be a win-win for me. Because I'll be going home. Or if not and it turns out Warner really has been stringing me along, well then Benny Douglas better watch his back, 'cause next time I won't hold back.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thank you so much to everyone who read chapter two and for all the reviews, follows and favourites. I hope you enjoy this new chapter too :)

* * *

 **Three**

 _December 1965_

I glance up at the clock another time. It's two fifteen already. Which means I've been sat here over an hour now. But there's still no sign of anyone I know coming to fetch me, despite the fact I'd specifically reminded Angela when they last let me telephone home, that someone, anyone—well anyone who the losers in charge here would class as an adult anyway—has to come pick me up today, for me to get this special early release deal that Brad has somehow swung for me. Hope she's remembered it's today.

No, the only people I can see apart from the staff is that asshole Benny Douglas and his brother. Douglas is smirking at me as he waits to collect his possessions from Mrs Morris, the reformatory administrator. It would be my damn luck that he's getting out today, too. Though his isn't an early release, just the end of his sentence. "What's the matter, Shepard? Scared no one's coming to get you?" he asks, causing his brother to start laughing. "Don't know why you're so surprised though, shouldn't think even your own mother would want you back."

"Benny Douglas!" Mrs Morris gasps, clasping a hand to her mouth as the guard watches us a little more closely. You'd think she'd be used to hearing crap like that working here, but apparently not. "That's a terrible thing to say. You apologise right this instant!"

Douglas fixes her with a sickly grin. "Yes, ma'am." Scooping up his handful of change, and the rest of the contents of his pockets from her desk, he turns to me and churns out the most fake sounding apology I've ever heard out of anyone aside from my sister.

Only Mrs Morris seems to buy it, smiles brightly at him. "There, that's better, now you go on home, and don't let me be seeing you back here again."

"You ready, kid?" his older brother Ron asks, clapping his brother on the shoulder.

I scowl at the pair of them, try to push away the pang of disappointment and give up on that unrealistic hope I've been nursing in the back of my mind that it should be Tim walking in through the door to meet me, fixing me with a rare grin as he takes a drag on his cigarette and tells me to hurry the hell up. Because of course there's no way he's gonna be here, because he's in MacAlester for the foreseeable. And there's no way on this earth that he got out on good behaviour after less than four months like I've somehow managed to. Not with what they sent him up there for.

"Yeah, let's go. Be seeing you around, Shepard," Benny says, grinning at me, just as the bell above the door jingles and we all look to see who's arriving. "Well hello, sweetheart," he leers, looking the girl up and down. And it's all I can do not to launch myself across the room and punch him. Because there's no way that a jerk like him should be looking at my kid sister that way.

Only as per usual, Angela don't need my help, can take care of herself. She doesn't even bother to give him the satisfaction of a reply. Instead, she rolls her eyes and shoots him a withering look, like he's something unpleasant she's just had the misfortune to step in. And then she tucks her hand back under Ma's elbow and points towards me, her voice soft and low. "Look, Ma. Its Curly, he's been waiting for you, like I told you he would be."

"Curly?" Ma's head jerks left and right, a bemused look on her face as she stares blankly at me.

"Yeah, Ma. It's really me." I grin at her, but really all I'm trying to figure out is how many of her pills Angela had to give her, just to get her up here today. 'Cause her eyes are glassy, her expression vacant, like she's barely even awake. Not that that's anything new. She's been relying on them for years now. Or maybe she just seems worse to me on account of me not seeing her for a couple of months. "If you can sign the forms then we can all go home."

"Forms?"

I sigh inwardly, but keep the smile plastered on my face. Ain't no point in getting annoyed with her, not now. Not here. Not if I want to get out of this place any time soon. I'm just about to speak when Angela leans in, taking Ma by the arm again. My sister and points across the room, then leads her gently towards the desk where the administrator is sitting, picks up the pen attached to a long silver chain and places it in Ma's hand.

"Here, Ma. You have to sign your name here and here." Angela rests her finger on the page in front of her on the desk. "If you can do that, then we can all go home, like you wanted. We can take Curly with us."

Ma frowns, doesn't say nothing, doesn't move, and I can feel the air growing thicker with tension, the heat rising up my face as the administrator and the guard both look at her standing there with her dark hair barely brushed and her grubby, threadbare coat. The one she's had as long as I can remember. And Angela in her too-short skirt and plastered on make-up. And they judge them. Judge us. Don't really give a shit what they think about me. But it ain't right that these people should look at Ma and Angela like that. Because it ain't either of their faults we don't have nothing, that we've all had to scrape by any way we can since the old man's accident.

The pen slides out of Ma's grasp and lands on the table with a soft thud.

"Are you okay, Mrs Shepard?" Mrs Morris asks, her eyebrows raised as she glances back at the guard hovering in the corner of the room.

"Mrs Locke," Ma parrots, the response that Harry has drummed into her, that he makes sure she always gives whenever someone calls her by her former name. By our name. The reply she churns out automatically these days whether he's around or not 'cause it's easier than having to worry about him losing his temper. Reckon that's part of the reason he hates having the three of us around—the reminders of our old man that we provide day in, day out. Not that I'm forgetting how dad was. Because I can remember enough to know he was no angel, and that he sure as hell never had much time for me. But that don't change the fact that at the end of the day he was still a better option than Harry, 'cause no matter what his faults at least he was our own flesh and blood.

"She's fine," says Angela with a smile, at the same time as Ma is speaking. Angela's never easy to read, not if you don't know her. Guess she takes after Tim for that. Not like me, who can't ever seem to keep a lid on things. But despite her even voice and calm expression, I know she's on edge right now, can't miss the way she's got her hand balled into a fist at her side, her nails digging in to her palm.

And then finally, after what feels like an eternity even though it probably ain't no more than two minutes, the papers have been checked and Mrs Morris it pulling out the bag to give me back my possessions, frowning as she slides the solitary cigarette carton towards me, before finishing up with her standard line. "Well. You take care then, Edward. Don't let me see you in here again."

"No, ma'am, you won't," I say as politely as I can muster, jamming my smokes into my pocket as quick as I can and stride towards the exit, try to keep my pace even, like I ain't desperate to get out of this room.

As we reach the sidewalk, the cold winter wind cuts through the thin fabric of my faded denim jacket. It was Tim's once. Thought I was so cool when he let me keep it after he somehow managed to acquire himself that black leather jacket he's so fond of. Imagined I looked just the same as him. Only now, well now the sleeves are too short and the buttons wouldn't even reach across my chest to do up, even if I wanted them to.

"Come on, we need to go this way, Edward," Angela says, grinning as she nudges me in the ribs, and points down the street a ways.

"Why?" I demand. "And don't fucking call me that."

"Why not, it's your name ain't it? On your birth certificate and everything?" she teases. "Or would you prefer Eddie?"

I huff out a breath, shove my hands in my jams pockets. "You damn well know why. So don't you dare call me that. But how about you tell me where we're going?"

"Bus stop, dumbass. How d'you think we got here?"

"Angela, don't call your brother that," Ma murmurs.

"Why, not? It's the truth, he is a dumbass," my sister retorts, smirking at me.

"You should be nice to your brother," Ma continues, "he's been in that awful place, on his own, so you behave."

"Yeah, 'cause we can't go upsetting your precious baby boy, can we?" Angela sneers. "Reckon we should have left him there if all he's gonna be is a giant pain in the ass."

"Thanks a lot, it's great to see you, too." I try to sound offended, but it don't work. 'Cause I really am glad to see her. To see both of them. Even if I have got to spend best part of an hour sat on the damn bus before we get home. "Couldn't you find no one to drive you up here then?"

Angela snorts at my question. "Sure, 'cause Harry was real likely to take time outta work to do you a favour, wasn't he?"

"Well what about one of the gang? Surely one of them would've come if you'd asked them?"

"Yeah right. In case you haven't noticed, both you and Tim were gone, so it ain't exactly like there's no Shepard gang any more."

"Tim?" Ma asks, pulling her handkerchief out of her pocket and twisting it round and round in her hands at the sound of his name. "Is he in trouble again? What's happened? Is he hurt?"

"No, Ma. He ain't in no more bother. Just he won't be home for a while. Remember?" Ma looks crestfallen, but Angela squeezes her hand, smiles like she's explaining it all to a little kid rather than her own mother. "He's okay though, I promise, you don't need to worry."

"So what's happened, to the gang?" I hiss in a low voice as we finally reach the bus shelter. I thought Benny Douglas had been winding me up with all his taunts about our gang being out of business. But what if he was right?

"Not now," Angela murmurs. "Let's worry about getting her home first. Had a devil of a job getting her out the house. I've spent the last God knows how many weeks having to deal with her by myself. So if you don't mind, I don't need any more hassle today."

"But—"

"Please, Curly, just leave it. I promise I'll tell you everything I know later."

And Ange sounds so damn desperate for me to drop the subject that I do.

"Yeah okay." I pull the cigarette carton out of my jeans pocket, look inside. Three smokes but no damn matches. About sums up my fucking luck. Settle for leaning back against the wall of the building behind us and hoping the bus turns up soon. I close my eyes, my imagination working overtime as I run through all the options as to what might have happened to the gang, and make a list of all the questions I want to ask Angela later—until the roar of the bus engine makes me lose my train of thought completely.

Ma and Angela stand side by side on the curb as we wait for the bus doors to open. I'm standing right behind them when Angela twists around, grabs a hold of my hand and presses a coin for my fare into my palm. Only she don't let go, her fingers lingering for a split second as she squeezes my hand, smiles up at me.

"You know I really am glad you're coming home. I missed you..." And then her smile widens to a grin as she steps on to the bus. "... _Edward_."

* * *

 **A/N:** So, I just wanted to add, that I know people often go for Curly's real name being Charles. But as it's never specified in the book, I decided ages ago that in my version of the Shepard's he's named after his father, Ted, who features in my Shepard family story 'Mother's Little Helper', and which gives some background on why their mom is the person she is, and her relationship with her kids.


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

 _December 1965_

The bell sounds, and chairs scrape across the floor as our English teacher, Mr Richards, yells out our homework assignment.

My first full day home and I'm back in this dump. And it don't feel a hell of a lot different to being in the reformatory, what with having someone tell me what to do all day and the way the teachers look at me. But at least if I'm here then I'm not giving Harry no more ammunition to yell at Ma. And it's Friday. So it's only one day I gotta get through.

"Don't forget, folks. I want five hundred words, by Monday. No excuses." And I guess Mr Richards must see me roll my eyes, 'cause he glares at me. "And that includes you, Mr Shepard. Now you're back I expect you to keep up. Or do you want to wind up repeating the year?"

"No sir, much as I love your class, I ain't got no wish to do it twice." I grin at him as I saunter out into the hall, nudge Curtis in the ribs. "Jesus, what is his problem?"

Ponyboy shrugs. "He's not so bad, if you don't get on his bad side, don't usually give no one trouble unless they deserve it."

"Yeah, right. That's easy for you to say."

He stops at his locker, pulls out more books and notepads, shoving them into his backpack. "I can help you catch up, if you like. My brothers are both still at work, if you wanna come study at our house?"

"Seriously, Curtis? On a Friday? Friday nights are for booze and broads. Not writing English assignments. About crappy fucking poetry."

Although maybe I should go. Be less likely to get any hassle there.

And there might be the chance of some decent food too. Ma hasn't cooked nothing properly in Lord knows how long, and Angela barely managed to scrape together enough food for us all last night, so it ain't likely to be any better today. Especially as Ange won't even be home. Told me this morning that she had _plans_. Plans that are apparently _none of my business._

Ma might miss me I guess, that is if she even remembers I'm home. But really, me staying away is probably the best option, 'cause unless Harry has found God or something since I got locked up—which seems pretty unlikely from the cursing he was doing when he saw me sat on the couch when he got home last night— I can't remember a Friday night since Ma married him that he hasn't got blind drunk and come home looking for a fight with one of us.

Plus there's stuff I need to do.

First off I need to find out what's been going on. Angela was barely any help, turned out she didn't know half as much about anything as she'd made out. Just told me a bunch of second-hand half-truths, gossip and rumours, not anything definite.

Then I need to get back out there, make sure that people know there's at least one Shepard brother back in town. Even if I'm not the one anyone listens to or respects. But it have to do what I can to protect Tim's interests best I can—that is, if there's anything left to protect.

Curtis shrugs. "Whatever. But it ain't like it'd take us long. An hour, maybe. And if you get it over and done with you won't get no grief off Richards on Monday. And it'll still leave you the whole weekend for hunting some action if that's what you wanna do."

He slams his locker shut and trudges off down the corridor, head down, not waiting for me to answer. And for a few seconds I watch him, before I find myself jogging to catch up to him, jostling through the crowded hall, finally catching up to him on the school steps.

"Tell you what, Curtis, I'll come do this crummy assignment if you agree to come out and help me celebrate being home. We could go to Buck's or something. Sink a few beers, play some pool. What d'you say?"

He frowns, his eyes on his shoes as he shakes his head slightly. "Buck's...I dunno, I ain't been in there since...with Johnny..." He shakes his head, his voice trailing off.

Christ. This is all I need, him getting all upset. So I pretend like I don't know what he's talking about and shoot him a goofy grin. "Shit, Curtis, you're not gonna let me go drinking on my own, my first night out since I got home, are you?" Me and Curtis get along alright, even if we aren't exactly best buddies or nothing. But none of the guys I'd usually hang around with in class ain't showed up for school today. So right now I don't exactly have a lot of options. Not until I know where I stand with the gang anyways. So I clap my hand down on his shoulder, nodding in the direction of a bunch of girls ahead of us, hoping it's enough to persuade him to agree. "Besides, I heard earlier Mandy might be there, might give you the opportunity to make your move."

His eyes dart towards the girl, his ears reddening. "Don't know what you mean, I—"

"Cut the crap, Ponyboy. Any fool could see the way you was looking at her in class, even me. You could barely keep your eyes off of her. Not that I blame you, she sure is a looker. And that mate of hers, Sally, she's pretty cute too."

"Hell, Curly, you don't know that they'll even be at Buck's. Place'll probably be full of drunk cowboys."

"Sure I do. Overheard 'em talking by their lockers at the end of lunch. So do we have a deal?"

Pony lets out a sigh, shrugs at me. "Guess so."

 **~oOo~**

"So does Tim know you're driving his car?" Ponyboy asks, as I come to a sharp stop on the lot alongside Buck's place, the loose chippings crunching beneath the tyres as I'm a bit too heavy handed on the brakes.

"Yeah, right." I let out a snort of laughter. "I ain't got no death wish. Even if I am doing Tim a favour really, keeping it running smooth whilst he's not home."

"Running smooth? The way you drive?"He laughs. "Reckon you better take it by the DX and get Steve and Soda to give it the once over, before Tim gets home."

"Why? If Tim don't know then he can't worry about it, can he?"

"You sure that's a good idea? Keeping secrets from him?"

"Says the guy who's just told his brother we were only heading down The Dingo."

"Yeah? Well Darry sure don't need to know everything I do." Ponyboy frowns as he lights himself another cigarette and takes a drag. His third smoke since we got outta their house. Thought I smoked a lot, but I ain't got nothing on him. "And anyway, him and Soda were doing way worse when they were my age. Mom and Dad barely ever knew where they were. Although Darry seems to have conveniently forgotten that these days. Just everything's an excuse to give me a hard time. So if he don't know then at least I don't get to listen to him bitching about it."

"Hey, Curtis, relax, I'm not gonna drop you in it. I know how it is to have your big brother always on your back." I grin at him as I slam the car door shut, try to make light of the fact that it's likely gonna be years before Tim'll be around again to give me a hard time.

Curtis makes like he's strolling towards the bar, but I can tell he's watching me out the corner of his eye. Gives me an uneasy feeling in my gut even before he comes out with yet another question about Tim. "So have you heard anything from him? Is he doing okay?"

"Nah, haven't heard a word from him. But you know Tim." I shove my hands in my jeans pockets and shrug at Curtis. Wish I had a beer right now, just to take the edge off that uncomfortable tightness in my chest when I think about whether he's really doing alright in there. Settle instead for lighting another cigarette to keep my hands busy and give me something to focus on until we get inside and I can get that drink. Fumbling for my lighter, I tell myself to snap out of it, 'cause thinking like that makes me sound like Ma. And if I carry on that way then next thing you know I'll be the one spending too long poring over the newspaper every day and jumping every damn time the telephone rings. "He ain't exactly one for sharing. And besides, Tim'll be fine. He always is."

Ponyboy nods, although the way he smiles at me makes it obvious that he don't exactly believe that any more than I do. And no surprise really. I mean according to Angela he was actually there, that night when Dal got taken out. Saw everything. And Dallas Winston was pretty near as tough as Tim. Never gave the impression of giving a damn about anyone else. So if Winston could lose it like that and fall apart, it kinda makes me think that no one is safe.

The door of Buck's place swings open easily under my hand and a wave of warm air and country music hits us. The music might be shit, but the voices and laughter, the buzz of the busy bar, makes me focus on why I'm really here, and what I need to do tonight—and I'm grateful for the distraction.

"You see the girls anywhere?" Curtis asks, peering in over my shoulder. Guess he is more interested in Mandy than he was letting on earlier.

"Yeah, they're over there, at the end the bar." Not that it's them I'm looking for. Not yet yet anyways. Got other people I need to see first. Only Curtis seems to have other ideas, starts moving in their direction. "Hey, hold up, Casanova, you don't wanna look too desperate. So how about we grab a beer, see who else is around, before you go try your luck?"

Curtis shakes his head, a smile spreading onto his face as he looks back towards the girls giggling in the corner of the room. "No." He brushes a hand through his hair, eyes still on Mandy. "I'm gonna go say hello, 'fore I lose my nerve—or she ends up with someone else."

I shrug at him. Like there's any chance she's gonna turn him down. Curtis is one of those guys, like his brother Sodapop. Or Tim. The kind of guy that girls can't help but notice. "Yeah, whatever. I'll catch you later, yeah?"

Not waiting for him to reply, I make a quick scan of the room as I pick my way through the crowd towards the bar. Seems like its the usual mix of Buck's rodeo buddies, Brumly boys, and girls looking for a good time. And then of course there's the real reason I was so keen to come here. The last remaining members of our gang, who are hanging out over near the pool table.

Danny Simmonds has got his arm around some little red-head, and they're grouped around the table all eyes on Ryan Lang. Ryan chalks up the cue as he circles the table, eventually decides on a shot. Locks eyes with me as he leans forwards to take it.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Ryan drawls, slowly pushing himself back upright. "Didn't think we'd be seeing you anytime soon, Shepard."

The sound of my name grabs the attention of the other guys, who turn to look at me. Can't miss that half of them don't exactly looking happy to see me. Maybe Angela's suspicions about things shifting with the gang aren't so far from the mark after all. Or maybe they're disappointed it's me, not Tim, standing here.

"Yeah? Well just 'cause you aren't smart enough to get out early, Lang, it don't mean everyone's an idiot. Got out on good behaviour."

"Oh yeah? How d'you manage that? They dropped their standards since I got out? Or did you offer to do a few 'favours' for the guards?"

The rest of the guys smirk and laugh along with Ryan's pathetic attempt at a joke. And I stand there like a fucking idiot and scowl back at him, trying to think of something to say.

"What's the matter, Shepard, you lost your sense of humour, or you still trying to catch up?" Ryan grins back at me, and his expression nearly convinces me that there's nothing more going on than him having a laugh at my expense. Only then I notice how tight Ryan's gripping the pool cue in his hands, his knuckles white and I know for sure he's not pleased to see me.

I'd like to punch that smug smile right off of his face. 'Cause Lang sure as hell wouldn't be saying shit like that to Tim if he was here. Wouldn't still have his teeth if he did. But then I'm not Tim. I'm his annoying, tag-along kid brother. The dumb one.

Although I'm not so dumb as to think it would be a wise idea for me to get drawn into a fight with him. So I ignore his insinuations, change the subject and choke out a question.

"So how's things been going? Got any business on?"

"Sure have, buddy," Danny says, stepping away from his broad and reaching out to shake my hand. "We got some real sweet deals set up. Been raking in the cash, easy as you like. You want back in?"

I laugh. "You have to ask? Course I do. I mean, this is still the Shepard gang right?"

"Cool." Danny claps me on the shoulder, ignores my question. "It's good to have him back, isn't it, Ryan?"

Lang steps round the table, so he's standing right next to me and Simmonds. "Sure. So long as you don't screw things up, drop us all in the shit like your asshole brother did."

* * *

 **A/N:** Huge thanks to everyone who reviewed last time. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter too :)


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Huge thanks to everyone who read/reviewed/followed or fav'd last time, I really appreciate all your interest and support— and I hope you like this chapter too :)

* * *

 **Five**

 _January 1966_

"Over there, Shepard." Danny Simmonds nudges me in the ribs with his elbow, points across the store into the shadows. "You empty the cash register. I'll grab the smokes and check out back."

Danny's scooping cigarette cartons from the shelf into a bag and he isn't exactly quiet about it. But I can't help but cringe as the still air is filled with a cheery ring as I press the button to open the cash drawer. The street seems over-busy for a rainy Tuesday night. So I'm already on edge, my stomach churning at the rumble of every passing car, every bit of chatter and laughter as people pass by the plate glass of the store window, oblivious to us lurking in here...but what if it's the cops, if someone sees us...what if I get sent back...

God, I need to man up. Everyone always says reformatory makes you tougher. Not me though. Seems like being inside has made me go soft, lose my nerve.

What I need to do is quit being pathetic and just get on with it because I won't get no cash no other way. Last week Curtis started working in the kitchens down The Dingo, says he needs to start saving money now if he's ever going to get out of is place and go to college. Which seems dumb, I mean he's still got a couple more years left in school, and if anyone's likely to get a scholarship then it'll be him.

But Pony just laughed when I told him that, then tried persuading me to go talk to Ricky who runs the place, said it would be a laugh us working there together, that we could check out all the hot chicks that go hang around down there. Only there's no way I'm gonna spend all my spare time washing dishes and cleaning floors for a couple of lousy bucks a week. And anyway, Ricky isn't likely to give me a chance. Not when there's other kids. The ones who come without a record and a reputation.

So that's why I'm here now, robbing this store. Probably the only thing I'll ever be much good at. Least according to my teachers anyway.

Have to focus, get this done. Get out of here.

There's not all that much cash left here in the cash register drawer. Less than forty bucks. Which means my share isn't exactly gonna be a whole lot. Not when Ryan seems to think he's entitled to more than the rest of us just 'cause hitting this place was his idea. But he ain't the one here putting his neck on the line. No. He's waiting down the block in the car for the two of us to get out. But even though I know he's ripping me off, I still need to do this. Prove I'm not a liability, that he can trust me. That I'm as good—no better—than anyone else in the gang.

I grab the money, shoving the notes in my back pocket as I glance over my shoulder.

Danny's still busy rifling through the drawers of the desk out back, the duffel bag hanging from his left shoulder bulging with all the smokes he's swiped. So I grab a large handful of quarters too. I mean every cent helps right? Especially when Ma needs her prescription filling and Harry's spent his wages already but it's another three days 'til he gets paid. And what Ryan don't know about...

Turning, I take three strides, catch up to Danny as another car slows outside. Lights shine through the window and we both freeze.

My heart pounds against my chest like a jackhammer. Count to ten, twenty, thirty, in my head as the car lingers outside. Seems to be taking forever for it to move on. Convince myself they've seen us, that the door'll burst open and cops are gonna rush in any second. And then finally the gears crunch and the car moves on. Let out the breath I didn't know I was holding.

"C'mon Simmonds," I hiss, "there ain't nothing more worth taking, let's get the hell out of here."

 **~oOo~**

"Here you go, Ma." I set the small bag down on the kitchen table in front of her.

Ma doesn't say a word to acknowledge me. But her hands dart up from where they've been twisting and turning the handkerchief on her lap and she unrolls the crumpled paper, takes each of the three pill bottles and studies them, lines them up neatly with the others, opening the last of them.

"You need some water, Ma?" I'm already filling the cleanest looking one I can see on the counter, setting it in front of her as she nods in response. "You okay?" I ask, even though it's obvious from the way she's acting that she's not, that there's something on her mind, eating at her.

Ma swallows down her pills, gulping down the water as her other hand stretches for a brown envelope half-hidden beneath the pages of yesterday's newspaper. "They're going to cut us off, they'll send people to the house, the neighbours will talk..." Her voice trails off as she grabs at my hand.

I pick up the envelope. The sheet of paper poking out of it has red edges, final demand emblazoned across the top in big, bold letters. The electric company, going by the logo. I shrug. "Well, Harry'll get paid Friday, so it ain't no big deal is it, if you're a few days late."

But Ma grips my hand tighter, her nails digging in to my palm. "No, we're already behind on the rent, he'll go crazy if he knows about this too, you know how he gets."

I nod. Yeah, we all know how Harry gets on pay day. After another night on the booze. Best not to do or say anything that might upset him on those nights.

"I don't know how we'll pay it, your brother used to take care of it, but now he's gone we can't manage. Not without Tim." And Ma rambles on and on, making no sense, as she repeats the same things over and over, becoming more and more incoherent.

I rest a hand on her shoulder, squeeze it in what I hope is a reassuring gesture, or will at least grab her attention. She glances up, so I plaster a fake smile on my face and try to sound confident. "Yeah? Well I'm back now, so you don't have to worry no more. I can take care of things can't I? Only 'til Tim gets home."

And carefully, gently, I prise her fingers off of my hand and head towards the front door.

Out of nowhere, Angela appears, head poking out of her bedroom door as I pass by. Don't know how she heard me, not over the racket that's been blaring out from her tinny transistor radio since we got home from school. But then again, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. She don't ever miss much.

"She okay?"

"Yeah, she'll be fine, I'm gonna sort it."

"How?" Angela stares at me hard.

I look away before she wises up to the fact I don't have the first clue how to get us out of this problem. "Like I said, it's fine. Don't worry about it."

I stretch out for my too-small jean jacket. Find myself grabbing on Tim's old leather jacket that's hanging on the hook next to it instead, hoping to get out the house before Angela thinks to ask me any more questions I don't really have the answer to.

"Why're you wearing that?" Angela demands, following me down the hall as I pull open the front door. "You think you're Tim now?"

"Course not." I grin at her over my shoulder. "Just its freezing out there, and I ain't got no money for anything new. And besides, Tim won't mind, and it probably fits me better than him these days anyway."

 **~oOo~**

I'm supposed to be meeting the rest the gang here. Celebrate that job we pulled last night with a couple of beers and a few frames of pool. Not that seven lousy dollars and a half dozen cartons of cigarettes really feels like something worth celebrating to me.

But I know I need to show my face, make sure my place with the gang stays secure. Mostly they seem okay with me being here these days, seem to include me in everything. Well, apart from Ryan. But then he's always been an arrogant dick. And Tim never did have much good to say about him.

A quick glance around tells me that none of them are even here yet so I think about turning around and waiting outside. Could hang round by the car and make like I'm finishing my smoke and checking out the talent. Anything to make my cash last a little longer—especially after Ma getting so worked up about money earlier.

But after the shit day I've had, I really could do with a beer. So I cut through the crowd of people laughing and drinking and head to the bar, rest my elbows on the dark wood and hope that I get noticed. That I can get a drink sometime sooner rather than later.

"Hey, kid. How's things? Heard you were home."

It's Nick Miller grinning at me as he leans on the bar and instantly catches the eye of the girl behind the bar and starts to order up a big round of drinks. Nick Miller who was the closest thing my brother ever had to a proper friend. The same guy who was Tim's second, who always had his back. Until a few months ago at least, when they had some falling out Tim wouldn't talk about. And after that Nick didn't hang around with the gang no more.

So I'm more than a little surprised he sounds so friendly. Realise he's watching me, an amused look on his face as I stand there dumbly staring at him. "What? You not allowed to talk to me or something? Scared about upsetting your new leader?"

"Yeah, right." I snort. "Lang ain't the boss of me. But I still dunno if I should be talking to you after you betrayed Tim."

Nick turns to me, his smile vanishing as he stands up a little straighter and my head is filled with all the times I've ever seen him in a fight. How he could handle himself no problem. And I'm starting to think pissing him off wasn't my smartest idea.

"And you ought to not talk about shit you know nothing about. Nobody betrayed no one. And if Tim had had the good sense to leave all that crap behind same as I did, then maybe he'd be the one standing here offering to buy you a beer instead of me. So how about we start this conversation again?"

He pauses, waits for me to nod slightly, then asks another question.

"So how's things going, Curly?"

And this time I manage to crack a grin and force out a decent answer. "Yeah, not so bad. Good to be out at least."

Nick nods. "Yeah, I bet. Reckon your mom must have missed having you around. So d'you wanna beer?"

"Sure." I'm still not entirely sure chatting with him is the best idea. Not when I don't really understand why things went bad and he ditched the gang and Tim. But then Ryan and the others aren't here to see me hanging with him. And I don't have no beef with Nick. Not really. He was always a hell of a lot more reliable second to Tim than Ryan Lang anyway. And Tim always said Miller had a knack for knowing what was going on all over town. So even if they weren't speaking at the time, I reckon Nick's the one most likely to know what in hell really happened to get Tim sent to the state pen.

I take a swig outta the beer the girl has placed in front of me. "Cheers."

I take another sip, figure I ought to say a little more. Only I can't quite work out the best way to bring the subject up. Not without sounding like a baby anyway, as though I can't take care of myself. Like I'm always bleating on about Tim. So I shoot the breeze a little, before deciding to go at it a different way and ask him how his sister is doing these days.

"Sylv? Yeah, she's doing alright now, better than she was after all that business with Winston, anyway. Finally found herself a decent guy. Got herself engaged." He shrugs. Asks the question I hoped he might so I don't have to bring the subject up. "So have you heard anything from your brother?"

"Nah." I twist the half-empty beer bottle in my hands, pick at the corner of the label where the condensation is making it peel away from the glass. "But he ain't exactly one for writing letters is he?"

Nick laughs, shakes his head. "No, I guess not." His eyes are wandering, his focus on his groups of friends, and some girl across the room who's smiling and waving at him. Picks up their drinks and turns in her direction, about to walk away from me, his conversation with me over.

So I blurt out my question. Now or never. "Nick, wait a second. Do you know what really happened? Why Tim really got sent down. 'Cause I don't believe no bullshit story that Lang's been telling me about how my brother decided to go waving a gun around in no store."

Nick pauses, takes a sip of his beer, as he studies me. "Tim always said you were a smart kid. When you wanted to be." He sighs, set the bottles he's holding back down on the counter. "I spoke to him, down the station, day after he'd been arrested. Wouldn't tell me much of anything, but all I do know is that at the end the day that even though he didn't pull the trigger, it was still his own dumb fault. He should have stayed well away from the River Kings."

"How could he? Without looking weak?" I protest.

"Yeah, 'cause taking on Myers worked out real well for him, didn't it?"

"D'you think...well. Will he be alright. Y'know. In there?"

"Sure. Your brother can take care of himself." Nick says, though he don't exactly sound as if he means it. More like he's just saying what I want to hear. Can't press him any more though, 'cause he strides away, gets halfway across the bar before he doubles back. "Look, kid, if you wanna know how he's getting on then go talk to Leigh. Reckon she can give you the most recent information about how Tim's handling it."

I frown at him, confused. Last I remember Tim had royally screwed things up with his girl after making the dumbass mistake of getting caught with some other chick. "But how? Thought they weren't even on speaking terms?"

"Yeah, well, guess she ain't got as much sense as I gave her credit for, giving him a second chance. All I know is her and my sister borrowed my car a couple months back. Told me some bullshit story. Turns out they took a trip up to Mcalester. Cause Sylvia comes home that night spouting all sorts of crap about how Tim Shepard is the biggest asshole alive on the planet and he don't know a good thing when he's got it."

"Why? What happened?"

Nick shrugs. "Dunno. I only heard some second-hand crap off of Sylvia. But she sure wasn't complimentary about him. So your best bet to hear the truth of it is to go speak to Leigh." Nick pauses, glances towards the door and the loud new arrivals and rolls his eyes, a smirk on his face as he speaks. "Anyway, you better run along, before you get yourself into trouble with the boss."

Looking round, I hear Ryan before I pick him out the crowd, while Nick disappears. "What're you doing talking to that splitter, Shepard?" He demands, jabbing me in the chest with his finger.

All I want is to push his hand away, to punch him and put him in his place. But then out of nowhere a better idea comes to me instead. So I take a step back, shrug at him. "Nothing much. Just ran into him at the bar is all. No need to get yourself all worked up."

Ryan scowls. "Better not be. Cause I don't think Tim'd be too happy about it."

"Like you've got the first clue. Reckon I know my brother better than you ever will, Lang, and you ain't never gonna be half the leader he is." And I side-step past him, my eyes on the door.

"Where the hell are you going, Shepard?" Ryan grabs me by the shoulder, his fingers digging into my flesh. "Bar's in the other direction—so how about you run alonglike a good boy, go get the beers in before you say anything else you might regret."

The smart choice would be to keep my head down and do it, to keep the peace. But I've had enough, don't want to spend another evening listening to him bragging about how great he is or how many broads he's been fooling around with. And I need to go through with this new plan, before I chicken out of that too. So I shove his hand off of me, carry on towards the door. "Nah. Get your own damn drinks, Lang, I'm outta here."

I'm in the parking lot, almost back to Tim's car when Danny pulls up beside me—the last to arrive, like always. He winds down his window, shouts out to me. "Hey, Curly, what's on man? Are you not staying?"

"Nah. Not tonight." I push my hands deeper into my pockets and grin at him. Tell myslef that I ain't making a real bad choice, 'cause me leaving ain't no big deal. "Reckon I'm gonna head down The Dingo instead."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Many thanks to everyone who read and reviewed last time, you're all awesome :) I hope you enjoy this chapter too...

* * *

 **Six**

 _February 1966_

"Hey, Shepard! Get your ass over here!" Ricky yells gesturing for me to join him over near the grill.

Nodding, I dry my soapy hands on my grubby apron, and shrug at Ponyboy. He don't need to say nothing for me to know what he's thinking – _how've you managed to piss Ricky off when we've only got a half hour of our shift left_ \- 'cause it's written all over his face.

Only I haven't done nothing wrong. I don't think. Been on time every day since I started this crappy job three weeks ago, and I'm smart enough to know he's not one to take no backchat. So I mostly succeed in keeping my mouth shut other than when I'm chatting to Ponyboy as he stands washing dishes at the next sink over from me.

"Looks like it's your lucky day, Shepard." Ricky grins at me.

"Yeah?" I ask, still not sure what he wants, waiting for him to lay into me. Tell me what mistakes I must've made. Fire me.

"Yeah. It's your chance to work a few extra hours tonight, on account of the fact Paul ain't turned up for his evening shift. Apparently he's sick. So sick he couldn't get off his lazy ass and pick up the phone to give me more than five minutes notice. So I need someone to man the grill, give Jones here a hand before the evening crowd gets in."

I stare at Ricky. Don't get why he's asking me to do this.

"What's the matter, kid? Cat your tongue? You can flip a burger, can't you?"

Think back to home, how over the years it's been Tim. Then more recently me and now Angela who has to cook more often than not. 'Cause it was either learn to do it ourselves or live on sandwiches when Ma was on one of her downers. "Well, yeah, but—"

"So there ain't no problem, is there? Jones'll do anything more complicated, while you get the hang of it. Listen to what he tells you, you'll do fine."

I look at Ricky, then glance back over my shoulder at Pony, who's giving me a big thumbs up. And I'm confused. "But what about Curtis? Don't you want him to do it? I mean, he's been here longer than me."

Somehow it seems I've unwittingly said something hilarious, 'cause they all erupt into laughter at that point. I glance between the three of them, confused as to what is so damn funny.

"Jesus, kid, we don't want the place burning down. Ain't no way I'm giving Curtis another go. Last time he tried helping out was chaos. Kid might be smart but he's too easily distracted. He ain't no cook, wouldn't trust him not to burn water." Ricky pats me on the shoulder, still grinning. "So go take five minutes, have a piss, a smoke, get some air. Then be back here listening to Stan. You'll have the hang of it in no time. And for Christ's sake find yourself a clean apron. You look a fucking mess."

 **~oOo~**

It's after midnight by the time I get out of there and I don't know that I've ever been so happy to get out into the cold winter air, after spending my Friday night sweating my ass off in front of that hissing, spitting grill.

Pony's stayed and worked a double shift too so I'm giving him a ride home, save him the long walk or the prospect of asking one of his brothers to come fetch him. And as we cross the parking lot I'm laughing. Listening to the tail end of some story he's telling me about Donna Phillips throwing a milkshake all over Betty Webb—when he nudges me in the ribs, pulls up short.

"You and him still got issues?" He nods towards Tim's car over in the far corner of the now-deserted lot, the glow from the flickering neon sign casting enough light to show there's another car next to it, a solitary figure standing leaning against the hood. Ryan Lang.

"Guess I'm about to find out." I shove my hands in my jacket pockets, slouch down a little and hope I appear more casual than I'm feeling, while Ponyboy fiddles with his cigarettes, already preparing to light his second before the first has even burnt all the way down.

"Well, ain't you the model citizen these days?" Ryan takes a drag on his smoke, throws it down to the dirt. "Never thought I'd see the day that a Shepard was doing some honest work."

Which is bullshit. 'Cause he knows as well as anyone the hours Tim put in down the construction sites, on top of all the schemes and jobs he had running for the gang. Can feel my hands bunching into fists, wonder if I'd knock him down if I punched him. He wouldn't be expecting it. Not from the cocky smirk on his face as he waits for me to answer. Out the corner of my eye, I can see Ponyboy is tensed too, ready to pitch in and give me a hand if I need him.

But in the end curiosity gets the better of me. "If you got something to say to me, Lang, say it. If not get the hell outta my way and off of my car."

"Your car?" he sneers.

"Least I ain't driving my grandma's ride," I retort, as I glance at the old-lady sedan he's driving this week. Guess it was all he's had the opportunity to boost this week, 'cause I'm pretty sure he wouldn't be driving that heap of shit otherwise.

He glares at me, pushes himself away from the charger, his shoulder hitting mine as he steps towards the car.

"What, that's it?" I taunt "You losing the plot or something, Lang? Hanging around here all night just to give me some lame shit like that?"

He pauses, his arm resting on top of the open car door. "Nah. I was going to let you know we've got a new job lined up. One you might be interested in. So I'd be willing to forgive your little tantrum up at Buck's the other week, let you back in. But if you're gonna carry on acting like a spoilt brat, then maybe I've made a mistake."

"Why? What's going on?" I ask, annoyed at myself for sounding so damn keen. But my mind is already drifting back to home. How I might have enough cash spare from my wages to buy us some food, refuel the car. But there's bound to be something else crop up soon, another bill due. So some more cash would be good. Just in case.

Only Ryan doesn't stop or elaborate. Instead, he gets into his car, his voice drifting out of the wound-down window. "If you wanna know that bad, how about you come find me? When you're ready to act like a grown up. Then maybe we can talk about it."

And before I can respond he guns the engine, tyres squealing as he accelerates away, leaving me and Pony standing in his wake.

"C'mon, let's go home," I mutter, ignoring Ponyboy's questioning look, hoping he don't ask too many questions about what I'm going to do.

'Cause honestly, right now I'm not sure. I mean I'm not going to grovel to get Ryan to let me back in the gang. And this job is alright, buddying around with Curtis is a laugh most the time. But I miss hanging out with the guys, the buzz of getting away with shit I shouldn't be doing.

And at the end of the day I should be there, keeping things running smooth for Tim. For when he gets back.

As we pull away I turn up the radio in the car, tap my fingers on the steering wheel and concentrate on the road, and I guess Pony takes the hint that I don't want to talk to him about it. 'Cause he yaks on about this real sweet motor his brother's been working on down the DX; some asshole on his track team who acts like he's gonna be the next Olympic champion; and even the dull as ditch water assignment we're supposed to be working on for Mr Richards.

But I don't care. If Curtis is yapping on about all that crap it means I haven't got to let on about what's going on in my head.

We're a couple streets away from his place, close to where Mathews lives, when a car pulls out the junction onto the road in front of us.

"What the fuck is this loser doing?" I snap as it slows to a crawl then comes to a dead stop, causing me to brake heavily.

I'm about to sound the horn, swing around it and give whoever is driving a piece of my mind when I realise that it's only stopped to drop someone off. That there's some girl on the pavement pushing the passenger door shut. She raises her hand to wave to whoever was driving as the car speeds away, then waits on the curb for us to pass.

It's less than two seconds before I'm jamming on the brakes again.

"What the hell?" Pony asks. "What're you doing, Curly?"

I'm already half out the car. Been meaning to come by since I spoke to Nick, but what with work and school and Ma being so low I haven't managed to find the time. Plus really what do I say to her? _I know my brother was a jerk to you, but how about we drag it all up again and you tell me how much of a dick he really was?_

"Nothing. I'll be two minutes. Just I need to..." Don't finish my sentence to him though, as I'm already striding back towards her, calling out her name as she pushes open the gate to her house. "Leigh, wait up!"

She freezes, her keys dropping out of her hand and clattering against the paving slabs as she stares, looks between me and the car. Her eyes are wide as she clutches a hand to her mouth. Like she's seen a ghost.

"Here." I reach down, scoop up the bunch of keys she's made no effort to retrieve, and hold them out to her.

"Thanks." She shakes herself. "Sorry, Curly. I thought...just for a second..." Her eyes drift back to the car, as she points to me, to Tim's jacket. "It's…well, you've grown some, and in the dark and all, you look like, I mean I thought you were..." She shuts her eyes for a half-second before she forces a smile onto her face. "It's nice to see you, Curly. But what're you doing here?"

"Was on my way home. I've just finished work. Only I saw it was you. And I've been hoping to talk to you."

"Why? Is everything okay?" Her face is pale. "Has something happened to Tim?"

"No. But Nick said you saw him. And I wanted to know, well… y'know."

Leigh sighs, glances towards her house, then back at me. "Look, Curly, I don't know that there's much to say."

"Please, Leigh," I whine, not caring that I sound like a little kid who's not getting his way. Not if it gets her to talk to me.

Her shoulders slump a little. "Yeah, okay. But not now. Not here. I'll be in the Double R, about ten tomorrow morning, if you want to meet me there. Don't know what you're expecting me to tell you though."

And she heads away into her home, pushes the door shut behind her without so much as a backwards glance at me.

There's one more block 'til we get to the Curtis place and neither of us says a word for the rest of the journey.

But I should've known better than to expect Ponyboy to let that shit with Lang drop. Because he's said his goodbyes, has got his hand on the car door about to push it shut when he pauses, leans down to ask me a question.

"So what d'you reckon Lang really wants from you then, Curly?"

"Don't know. But I guess there's only one way I'm gonna find out, ain't there?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven**

 _February 1966_

"Shit!" I squint against the bright morning light and check my watch again. No, I'm not mistaken, I should have been up about an hour ago. Instead I've got barely half an hour to get up and out the house. Practically fall on my ass as I scrabble to grab my jeans off the floor and dash towards the bathroom.

Of course there's someone in there. And of course it has to be Angela. Because Ma's in the kitchen and Harry isn't likely to surface much before noon on a Saturday. Takes a full five minutes of me pounding on the door and rattling the handle before I hear the bolt slide back and she finally opens the door, grins at me.

"Where's the fire?"

"Just get out the damn way, Angela."

But she stays there in the doorway. Reads my mind and takes a step back at the same second as I reach out to grab a hold of her arm and push past her. "Why? Where are you going this early on a Saturday, Curly?"

I shrug. Not about to tell her, don't need her worrying too. "Got things to do. People I need to see. So how about you get out of my way."

"Sure. If you make it worth my while. You got any money?"

"And how about you find yourself a job, instead of sponging off of me all the time?"

She snorts. "Jeez, Curly. You've had a job for what, two weeks and you're acting like you're something special? Don't remember you being so keen to do any that shit when you had Tim to give you a handout whenever you needed it."

I glare at her. "Yeah? Well he ain't here, is he?" I snap back, my voice getting louder. "And I ain't him. So how about you stop acting like a little kid and do something to help me out? Instead of expecting me to magically fix it all?" And I bundle her out the room, slam the door shut before she can respond, slide the bolt across. My hands are shaking, my breathing ragged. Don't need her to see how close I am to losing it, need at least one of us to not be worried, to believe we'll be alright.

 **~oOo~**

Somehow I manage to make it to the diner with five minutes to spare, cast my eyes around for a table to sit at. But Leigh is already here, in one of the booths by the window.

She glances up at the sound of the bell as the door closes behind me, waves at me. "Hi, Curly."

"Hello, Leigh." I slide into the booth opposite her, suddenly nervous. Not sure where to start. "So I—"

The waitress approaches, interrupts me as she places a vanilla milkshake between us, fills a cup with coffee. "There you go, honey,"

"Thanks, Marie," Leigh smiles at her and slides the glass towards me. "Here, I ordered you this. Hope it's okay."

I find myself grinning. "My favourite. How'd you guess?"

Leigh moves her cup, adds sugar to the syrupy black liquid. "I don't know. I guess it must be all that time I spent waitressing back when I was in school. Seem to remember you always ordering that, when you came in with Tim. That is, when you weren't trying too hard to look cool."

The memory makes me grin. Except Tim should be here, be the one sitting with her, not me and my smiles fades. And then I realise she's watching me and I force myself to be positive again and ask the first lame question that pops into my head. Not even close to what I want to ask her, but something at least. Feels somehow wrong to just leap in to talking about him, like she deserves something better than that from me.

"You miss working here then?" I ask.

"A little bit. I suppose I miss the people I worked with, but not much else. Sure don't miss working all day on a Saturday, that's for sure." She glances around, a frown working its way onto her brow, as she glances at her watch. "Look, Curly, you're a nice kid. But I know you aren't sat here because you're concerned about me and what I'm doing these days. So how about you get to the point and tell me what's really on your mind?"

I take another sip of my shake, as I struggle to work out what to ask her first, stutter over my words for a few seconds, before finally spitting it out. "It's like I said last night. Nick told me that you'd visited Tim."

"Yes, I went up there. But that was a couple months ago now. Back in November. For his birthday. Couldn't handle the idea of him being stuck in there, thinking no one cared." She turns her head a little, her eyes focused on the passing cars in the street outside as she continues to speak. "Turns out I shouldn't have wasted my time."

Leigh smiles at me, but it doesn't reach her eyes, and for a second I wonder if I should leave it. Not upset her any more than she obviously already is. But then I think about Tim again, get that tight feeling in my chest, and figure any information is better than none.

"Why? What did he say?"

"Not much." She stirs the coffee again. Finally sets the spoon down.

"Please, Leigh. I get that, but no one has heard from him. Angela writes him all the time, but he never answers. Never phones home. They ain't had one single call from him in the whole six months he's been there. So I'm sorry, that I'm here, bothering you. But there's no one else I can ask. And I need to know if he was...how he was doing?"

"He seemed just fine. Same old Tim." She stares down at her cup, picks it up then sets it back down on the saucer without even taking a sip. "Had a few bruises on his face, but they were old, faded. Hands were a mess, scabbed and all. So I guess he'd been in a few fights. Probably nothing he couldn't handle."

"And he actually said that? Told you he was managing?"

She laughs as that. "Course not. But he didn't exactly say much of anything. He...well... He couldn't wait for me to leave. So y'know. It's not like he would've told me even if he wasn't."

"But I don't understand. Angela told me that you two were...together. That Tim was the happiest he'd been in weeks. That you went down the courthouse to his trial."

She shrugs. Pulls at the sleeves of her sweater, and folds her arms, Still won't look at me. "Yeah, he had me fooled too. Only he sat there in the visiting hall in McAlester, barely speaking. Though what he did say made it plain he didn't want to see me. Tim told me he never...that we weren't..."

Leigh pauses, swallows, eyes shining and I hope she doesn't cry. Try to think of something nice to say, but reassuring isn't exactly my strong point and we fall into an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds until she drags the back of her hand across her eyes, sniffs a little.

"Anyway. It's done now. Can't change the fact I went there. And at least now I know the truth of it, won't be wasting my time waiting for him to come back. That I made a mistake. I—"

"Jesus, honey, we both know you ain't the one who made a mistake. It's Tim Shepard who's the grade-A idiot if he thinks he's too good for you—anyone with half a brain can see that." Sylvia Miller stands glaring at me from the end of the table, hands on her hips, as her tirade continues. "And now he's got you following her around? Giving her a hard time? Well, you can damn well tell him to stop trying to interfere in her life, 'cause Leigh ain't his property and he can't—"

"Sylv, stop!" Leigh says, not yelling. But enough that Sylvia takes pause.

"Yeah. Shut up, Sylvia. Tim didn't send me," I spit back, like a petulant child.

"Then why exactly are you here if it's not to cause trouble?" Sylvia sneers, looking me up and down. "Trying to step into your big brother's shoes in more ways than just playing dress up?"

"Sylvia!" Leigh exclaims her face as red as mine. "That's not fair, it's nothing like that. God."

It's definitely nothing like Sylvia is insinuating. God I hope Leigh don't start thinking I'm only here to try to hit on her. Manage to choke out a few words, even if I can't look her in the eye now. "It's all right, Leigh. I should go. I've got to be at work soon, anyway."

"Work? More likely you've got to go rob some defenceless little old ladies of their purses," Sylvia says, with a snort.

I get to my feet, start shuffling out the booth towards the door. Try to come up with something smart to say back to her. But even though Sylvia deserves to be taken down a peg or two, there's still that nagging voice in my head telling me she's Nick's sister. All the times Tim drummed it into me that the gang is practically family. How we look out for each other. Or we're supposed to.

"Yeah. Right. Whatever you say, Sylvia."

And I settle instead for striding out the diner, only the door don't bang shut behind me like I'm expecting it to.

"Curly, wait." The tapping of Leigh's shoes against the sidewalk fills the air as she hurries to catch up to me. "I'm sorry. About Sylv. You know how she is."

"S'alright." I shrug at her. "Besides, Sylv's got a point. Tim is an idiot, breaking up with you like that."

"Listen, Curly. Try not to worry about him. We both know he can handle himself. And if he gets parole, well he'll be back here giving you a hard time before you know it. And it's fantastic you've got that job; I reckon Tim would be real proud of you. You take care of yourself, okay?"

Leigh hugs me, just for a second, before heading back into the diner. Leaves me feeling a little bad, like I've just lied to her even after she stuck up for me. Because Sylvia was closer to the mark than I'm letting on. 'Cause while it's true I'm doing a shift today. It's the late. Starting at four. Which leaves me plenty of time for other business.

 **~oOo~**

The guys are exactly where I expect to find them. The front yard of Danny Simmond's place. Danny's underneath the hood of some beat up Chevy. His latest project. Barking out orders now and then to whoever is standing closest to pass him a wrench or whatever else he needs. Ryan a few feet away from the others, sat on the steps, definitely not getting his hands dirty for anything more than lighting another cigarette or popping the lid off of a beer bottle.

"Morning." I grin at them, like I've never been away. Like there was no fall out between me and Lang. Make myself take another drag at my smoke, and resist the temptation to tap my back pocket, to reassure myself my switch is still there. An insurance in case this doesn't go as easy as I'm hoping.

Danny's head bobs up and he grunts out a hello, starts wiping the grease from his arms on an old t-shirt, while the others grin back, clap me on the shoulder, shoot the breeze a little. Until I decide enough's enough and ask the question.

Ryan though. He just sits there watching me. Grinds his cigarette out beneath the heel of his boot and drains the last of his beer. Chucks the empty bottle in the long grass of the yard before grabbing another from the box beside him.

"Shepard!" he calls, tossing it towards me, before pulling out a second for himself, like we're best buddies. Like he isn't some whack job who alternates between threatening me and treating me like some idiot kid, all to make himself feel more important. "So you decided to take me up on my offer after all?"

"Yeah." I grin back at him. Either I'm back in the gang like nothing's happened, or I'm about to get my head kicked in. Guess whichever one it is, it won't be long until I find out. "Figured y'all might need some help, to make sure this job of yours goes smooth. Save you making a bunch of dumbass mistakes. So how about you fill me in on the plan?"

 **~oOo~**

It's almost midnight when I turn onto our street, still on a high from an afternoon spent with the guys, plotting this new job. A high that not even six straight hours stood in front of the grill and an hour cleaning up after has killed. That feeling of being where I should be, where I belong.

Should have known better than to believe it would last.

Angela's outside. Sat on the front step, chin resting on her knees and rubbing at her bare arms, and it's all I can do to not break into a run to get to her. Instead I grab up the paper bag that's languishing on the passenger seat and force myself to walk as slow as I can up the path.

"What's up?"

Her shoulders rise and fall, but she still doesn't speak.

Guess it's going to be one of those nights. The ones where I have to prise the words out my sister, despite the fact she don't normally ever shut up.

"Ma okay?"

"She's fine. Well. Not fine. But no worse than normal."

"Have you had another falling out with Harry? He yell at you? Hit you?"

She shakes her head. "No. Haven't seen him today." She sniffs, folds her arms across her chest.

"Then—" I stop. Can't ask her, let on to her I'm worried about him. Hand her the paper bag. "Here, d'you want this?"

She pulls out the burger and starts unwrapping it, before holding it out to me . "Don't you want it?"

"Nah. You have it."

Angela nods, takes a bite. Chews for a couple of seconds."So I spoke to Kathy today."

"Kathy?" I ask, confused. Don't remember her ever mentioning a friend by that name before.

"You know, she works in the beauty salon, blonde hair, real pretty. She dates Melanie Mathews' big brother. The one with the dumbass nickname who thinks he's real hilarious. Two-Bit?"

"Right. And?" I ask, still lost as to what the hell any of this has to do with me, other than the fact I'm well aware who Mathews is.

"So I did what you said." She tears the burger in two, hands one half back to me, carries on nibbling at the other.

I huff out a breath, and nudge her with my shoulder. "Might have to be more specific, kid. I say a whole lot of stuff."

"Ain't that the truth," she says, laughing softly.

"Like you can talk. Miss always got so much to say that she doesn't even pause for breath."

"Well, if you're gonna be like that about it, I ain't gonna tell you my news." Angela fake pouts, clamps her mouth tight shut.

"Jesus, Angela. I'm tired. I smell like the inside the diner kitchen. So if you're gonna play games then I'm going to bed." I go to stand, but she clutches at my hand, and I slump back down onto the step. "What is it that's so important you're waiting out here in the cold for me to get home?"

"I'm going to start working in the salon. On a Saturday morning. Only sweeping the floors and tidying up. But at least it means I won't be bugging you all the time for money. And her face lights up, as she carries on chattering away. "And even better, Kathy said she'd do my hair for me, for free, if it's quiet."

Christ. I reckon the very last thing Angela needs is any help in making herself look any older than she already manages to. But then what right have I got to tell her what to do? She ain't so much younger than me. And she managed Ma just fine on her own while I was in the reformatory. So maybe I should cut her a little more slack. Fix a grin on my face and try to make myself sound enthusiastic.

"That's great, Ange. Honest."

"Yeah, see, I thought about what you said this morning. Figured it maybe isn't fair, me expecting you to do everything. I should maybe help out more." She squeezes my arm, before rushing out a few more words. "I mean, just 'til Tim gets home and everything's back to normal, right?"

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi! Well, it's been a little while since I last updated, so hopefully there's still a few people reading? If you are, I'd love to know what you think :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Eight**

 _May 1966_

"God damn it, Shepard, what in hell is going on with you today? You'd think you'd remember to turn the burgers after all these months!" Ricky's glaring at me, as the smell of smoke starts to fill the air, and I realise I ain't been paying attention, quickly scrape the burning meat away from the grill. But then he's been going off on one at each of us at some point or other of the afternoon over nothing, so I ain't surprised it's finally my turn.

"Nothing," I mutter.

"Well fucking sort yourself out. Go take five minutes, clear your head, before I send you home. For good. That goes for the rest of you, too." He turns to point at Curtis and Jones. "I ain't running no charity here, so all of you quit goofing around and do some damn work for once or I'll fire the lot of you!"

Ricky kicks at the trash can, the kitchen door swinging wildly on its hinges as he stalks back out into the diner. The three of us stand there, watching it, for a few seconds until Jones, who's working the grill alongside me, lets out a low whistle. "Jesus, what's got into him today?"

"Yeah, he ain't normally this much of an ass, so it's gotta be more than Curly burning a couple burgers, don't it?" Pony asks, looking to me like I'll somehow magic up the answer, 'cause I was the target of Ricky's latest outburst.

I shrug, peeling off my apron. Got bigger things to worry about right now than Ricky getting himself all worked up over nothing. "Dunno. But I'm going for a smoke. See you in five."

Crossing the lot, I head straight for the payphone. Drum my fingers against the side of the booth, counting as it rings and rings. Six, seven, eight times before my sister finally answers.

"Hello?" Can't miss the subtle difference in Angela's voice as she answers, softer than her usual manner, hopeful. Barely noticeable, but still giving me the answer to my question before I even ask it. Makes my heart sink a little.

Find myself snapping at her, hiding my own disappointment behind annoyance. "Jesus, Ange. Take your time answering why don't you? What if it'd been Tim not me? What if he'd hung up just 'cause you can't be bothered to drag your ass off of the couch and answer the damn telephone quick enough?"

"Yeah? Well you ain't the one stuck here in the house with Ma all afternoon, are you?" she hisses back. "And what if he's trying to ring me now, smart ass, and he can't get through 'cause you're hogging the line?" And then my sister sighs, suddenly sounding deflated. "Like it even matters, 'cause he ain't gonna ring is he? Didn't bother for you turning sixteen. So why in hell is he gonna care about my birthday?"

"'Cause you're his kid sister. And I'm just his dumbass brother. And shit like birthdays means a whole lot more to girls don't it? Maybe he wrote you, and it's not arrived yet, might get a letter tomorrow. Or maybe he'll ring on the weekend, I don't know if they even let you use the phone in the week in Big Mac? I mean it ain't reformatory, they gotta be a whole lot stricter up there don't they?"

"Sure they are. Or maybe he didn't even remember. Maybe he's forgot about us."

Christ, I feel like hitting something, putting my fist through the glass of the phone booth. Wish I could call him up and give him a piece of my mind right now. Don't give a damn if Tim ain't interested in speaking to me. But Angela is a different story. He sure as hell ought to know better than hurting her like this. And then my anger is vanishing as quick as it came—guilt washing over me in its place. Because what if he's not just being an ass, what if he's really in trouble...

"Geez, Ange. That ain't it," I protest, "maybe he's..."

And then I stop, 'cause all the second-rate excuses I've got to offer her—how maybe our brother could be sick or in solitary, or else he's too busy doing whatever it takes to survive each miserable day in the state pen to even give us a second thought—all seem a hell of a lot worse options than letting her believe Tim don't care about either of us as much as we thought.

"No," Angela replies as a bunch of cars rumbles to a stop in the parking lot behind me, loud voices and laughter filling the air as the occupants head for the front of The Dingo. "Maybe you should stop always making excuses for him, Curly. Because maybe we should both face up to the fact Tim don't actually give a shit about anyone but himself. I mean he's most likely glad to be away from having to look after the pair of us—so maybe it's time we quit waiting on him and get on with what we want to do." And before I can say another word she slams the phone down.

 **~oOo~**

"What d'you reckon they're all doing in here? The Dingo's a bit far out of their usual territory isn't it?" Curtis asks, practically pouncing on me as I slip in through the back door and grab up my grease-stained apron.

"Who?" I ask, not glancing up, concentrating on wrapping the strings around my waist, and scanning the orders that are already beginning to build up. Trying not to think about Angela, how despite her angry words my sister will still be sat there waiting when I get home, willing the phone to ring. How it'll be up to me to pick up the pieces again 'cause she's got her hopes up over nothing.

"Them. Over there. Don't remember ever seeing any of their outfit in here before, do you?" Pony points through the serving hatch towards the middle of The Dingo, to a group of greasers laughing and goofing off, spreading out into all three of the booths in the middle of the diner, their voices loud and rough, causing the families around them to scowl and tut. Same reaction me and the gang would most likely get if we were sat there in their place.

And then one of them stands up and I realise why Curtis is getting so edgy.

Because it ain't the River Kings, like I was half expecting, and they most definitely ain't any of Lewis' guys outta Brumly. But then seeing any of those guys in here ain't exactly anything out of the ordinary. No, sat there in the heart of things checking out Linda as she scribbles down their order is that asshole from the reformatory. Benny Douglas. Scanning the room I feel a little sick, hope in hell they're not here because of me, or that business the gang have been getting into lately. And then I relax, just a little, as I spot Benny's older brother, Ron, over by the counter. Standing right next to him is Mark Fitzgerald. Big cheese of the Tiber Street Tigers. And the pair of them have got some third guy backed into the corner.

"Well, least they ain't here looking for me, I guess." I grin at Pony, but he's shaking his head, still frowning.

"No. But have you seen who they are talking to?"

I shrug. "Some idiot who owes them, I expect. Finally tracked the loser down and that's why they're in here?"

"Hope not," Pony mutters, "because it's Ricky they're arguing with."

"Jesus. What the hell?" I ask, my attention fully on what's happening across the diner now as Ron grabs a hold of our boss by shoulder, holding him in place while Fitzgerald carries on talking at him, heads close together—clearly a conversation they don't want anyone overhearing.

Curtis shrugs. "Search me. Like I said, I don't think I've ever seen them in here before. Maybe they're buddies?" he suggests, sounding like he don't really believe it, but he's trying to put a positive spin on it. "Mark and Ron are older than Darry and Tim, right?"

"Yeah."

"So that must make them about the same age as Ricky. Maybe they go back a ways. Knew each other when they were kids."

"Yeah right," I say as Fitzgerald jabs Ricky in the chest. "Reckon they might be the reason Ricky's been in such a crappy mood. Don't exactly look like they're having some friendly reunion out there, does it?"

And then my view is gone as Linda stomps up to the hatch, her hand slapping down on the counter as she peers through at us. "Here you go, Curly, here's the order for the jerks at table ten. You wanna drop their burgers on the floor or spit on them, then be my guest, I ain't gonna tell no one."

"Why, what'd they do?" Pony calls out to her as he heads back towards the sink, and the stack of dirty plates waiting for him.

"Yeah, what's going on out there? You need us to come sort them out for you?" I add, cracking my knuckles. Not that me and Curtis would stand a snowballs chance of getting one over on all seven of the Tigers. But I wouldn't say no to another chance to knock out Benny Douglas. Not after all the shit he did back in reformatory.

Only Linda rolls her eyes at me, laughs. "Oh, you boys are sweet, but they ain't doing nothing I can't handle. Not yet anyways. It's just that one loudmouth dick in the middle thinking he's got a God given right to put his hands on my ass. Soon set him straight on that."

She grins at me, as she reaches for the plates in front of her, and I find myself laughing too, at the thought of Benny Douglas getting put in his place by a girl.

"Well, you shout if they give you any more trouble."

Linda is kinda cute. In our grade, five foot nothing but a real firecracker, don't take no shit from no one. Wouldn't mind having my hands on her ass either, if I ever got the chance. Even if it would most likely earn me a slap in the face for my troubles.

"Yeah, thanks, Curly." Linda smiles, bites her lip as she disappears back out the swing door and into the noise of the diner.

"You should ask her out," Curtis says, a cheesy grin on his face as he appears back at my shoulder.

"Nah, she ain't interested in me," I mutter as I see her heading across the diner, already smiling and joking with some other guys outta school as she hands them their food. "And anyway, I'm pretty sure she's seeing someone."

"No, Linda's single again. Dumped Will Patterson last week. Apparently she caught him making out with Susan Jones outside the bowling alley when he'd told Linda he was going to visit his grandma."

"How d'you know all this shit?" I ask.

Pony shrugs. "Guess that's the one good thing about being the quiet one in class. Sit at the back with a book open and people think you ain't listening. You can hear all kinds of useful stuff when people forget you're even there."

"Yeah, like what?"

"Like how now is your best chance to ask Linda on a date. Before some other guy beats you to it and you end up missing the opportunity. What else d'you need to know?"

"Yeah right. She'd probably only laugh in my face."

"Come on, man, what've you got to lose?" Pony grins at me, raises his eyebrows. "Why don't you offer her a ride home? I'll walk back, give you two some time alone. You could take her over the drive-in."

"Nah, I can't."

"Why?" Curtis demands, not letting it go.

"None of you're business."

"C'mon, Shepard. I know you like Linda, just as much as she likes you." Curtis stands alongside me, grinning. And if it was anyone else hassling me, then I'd fucking punch them. "So why you bring such a pussy? Pretty sure it ain't because you're scared she'll turn you down."

"Angela." I finally admit. "She's losing it, over Tim. Figure I ought to go try and cheer her up. I mean, I know I ain't him. But least she'll know someone gives a shit about her. At least today anyway." And then I step back behind the grill, make a point of checking the orders, throw some burgers over the flames.

Ponyboy still won't let it go though, just stands next to me, playing with his lighter as he doesn't quite look me in the eye. "Jesps, Shepard. I know things are rough. You don't need to tell me how crap it is when people you rely on ain't around anymore. But you can't put your whole life on hold 'cause Tim ain't here. You need to thonk about yourself, do what's right for you too." And then he nudges me in the ribs with his elbow, gestures towards the diner and Linda, who's heading our way. "So why not go for it?"

I shake my head, about to tell him to shut the fuck up, when Angela's words swim back into my mind, mixing with his. My anger and disappointment at my brother growing again. Makes me wonder if my sister is right. If Tim never really did care about anyone but himself. How maybe his way ain't always the right way and we ain't exactly babies no more. So maybe we should knuckle down and get on with shit, instead of hanging around in limbo, waiting for him to come back and take care of everything for us like before.

So I guess now really is as good a time as any to risk doing something different. Like Pony said, now or never. Only Linda's dropped the order slip through, is already disappearing back into the heart of the diner. _Now or never._ Clearing my throat, I call out to her, my hands suddenly feeling clammy. "Hey, Linda! Wait up. You gotta sec?"

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks as always, for reviews/follows/fav's last time around. I know it's been a while since I've updated, so I'm not even sure if anyone is still even reading this—if you are, then please let me know :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Nine**

 _July 1966_

"So are you all in?" Ryan Lang stretches across, grabs his beer from the table and takes a swig, sits back in his chair and waits. And slowly, one by one, every single one of the gang nods and agrees with his latest plan.

Well, everyone except me.

I just shrug at him.

"You got a problem, Shepard? 'Cause if you have then how about you spit it out, instead of sitting there like some dumb fucking idiot." Ryan glares at me as the rest of the guys fall silent.

Christ. I know sharing my concerns isn't exactly my smartest idea. But then I ain't exactly keen to blindly follow his dumbass plan either. Not if means risking getting myself arrested again just for a few lousy dollars. But he's staring at me, so I'm gonna have to say something. "I dunno, it don't seem like the best idea, hitting the place like that."

"Oh yeah?" Ryan sneers, leaning forwards in his seat, elbows resting on his knees. "Well how would you do it then, genius? You got a better idea? Or is it that you've lost your nerve, gone soft since you've been spending all your time with that broad?"

All eyes are on me now. But I'm not going to let Lang have the satisfaction of thinking he's got to me, with his digs at Linda. And I ain't prepared to back down, to go through with his shit without saying nothing. Ryan might think he's smart, and he probably is, compared with some the other guys sat here. But he ain't Tim, and I _know_ he hasn't considered all the options, everything that could possibly go wrong. Wouldn't be sitting there looking so smug, like his plan was foolproof, if he had. 'Cause if even I can spot the flaws in it, well, it's not like they're hard to miss.

"Nah, I ain't backing out." Aside from anything else, I can't afford to. Could always do with a few more bucks, even with the extra shifts I'm picking up down The Dingo now school's out. "But there is an easier way to do this."

And then I spell out exactly where I reckon he's going wrong, how we can do it better, with a whole lot less chance of the fuzz picking us up. And by the time I finish all the guys are smiling and nodding. Well, all of them except Ryan.

"So what d'you say?" I ask, watching him, waiting for a response.

Ryan stays quiet for a few seconds. Runs a hand through his hair. And from the look on his face I'm pretty sure that I won't come out of this well. "Sounds like a load of bullshit to me."

"C'mon, Ryan," Danny Simmonds says, ever the peacemaker of the group. "Curly's got a point. Might take us a bit longer, but none of us is looking to spend any time in the cells if we don't need to."

Try to keep the smirk off of my face as I hear a couple of the others backing Simmonds. Backing me.

Ryan turns to me, shakes his head. "Yeah, alright. We'll do it your way, Shepard. This time." And then he grins at me. "So how about you make a start on it tonight?"

"Tonight?" Fucking asshole. Reckon he fucking overheard me telling Danny I had plans to see Linda again. How things are going real good between us even after all these weeks. That he's trying to prove a point, make it plain he's still the one in charge, by screwing that up.

"Yeah tonight." He's still smiling at me, but his brow is creased, eyes hard as he stares me out. "That is, unless you got something more important than the gang to think about? Somewhere else you've got to be?"

Resist the temptation to knock him out. He wouldn't expect it. And I can't let him get away with that. Insinuating I don't have my priorities straight. Not when this is still the _Shepard_ gang, even if everyone else but me seems to have conveniently forgotten that fact.

Shove my hands deep in my pockets, stop myself doing anything rash, stupid, thoughtless. Settle for rolling my eyes and snapping back at him.

"I said I'd do it, didn't I? So don't ever fucking question _my_ loyalty. I'll be there."

 **~oOo~**

"Hey, Curly. Isn't that your sister out there?" Curtis asks, gesturing through the hatch. "Over by the counter, reckon she's looking for you."

Takes me two seconds to pick out Angela, leaning on the counter and biting her lip as she points towards the back of the diner, towards the kitchens. Towards me.

"Jesus. Yeah." I'm already taking off my apron, heading through the swing door. Grabbing her by the arm. She don't ever come here when I'm working. Not like this. Not on her own. Fail miserably at trying to keep calm, my words spilling out in a rush as I pull her aside. "What's happened? What's wrong? Why are you here?"

Angela smiles. "Calm down will you? Before you have a fit. I swear you're getting more like Ma every day."

"Jesus, Ange, I'm working," I hiss, catching a glimpse of Ricky out the corner of my eye, eyeballing the pair of us. "If you ain't here for nothing important then I'm going back to work, before you get me fired."

"Curly, wait." Angela squeezes my arm. "It ain't exactly an emergency, but I promised Ma I'd go collect her pills. Only turns out I ain't got enough cash. She gave me her change purse, but when I got to the drugstore theres not enough for everything she needs. You got any spare? Don't want to have to go all the way home again, and hope Harry's left some lying around."

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"Come on, Curly. She's down to the last couple of pills. You don't want her getting in a state over it do you? You know how she is. She's been on edge for days, ever since that big row her and Harry had at the weekend. The still ain't barely talking to each other."

"And that's a bad thing?" I ask, with a laugh. "Least if they ain't speaking then we don't gotta listen to them yelling at each other."

"I know. But you know how she gets. She's in a right state, just can't seem to snap out of it. Worst she's been since… well, y'know. Since Tim."

"Ain't you got any money left then?" I ask, more out of principle than anything, 'cause I'm already dragging out the contents of my pocket to hand to her. Turns out I haven't got much either, fifteen cents and half a pack of gum. Have to reach for my back pocket, find her some notes instead. Guess it is just as well I am working that job later with the guys, the way I'm burning through money lately.

"Nah, she says. Don't get paid until I'm back in the salon on Saturday, you know that."

"What, and you've spent all your last week's pay already?"

She shrugs. "Yeah, well. Don't get so many extra shifts as you, do I?"

Angela stretches out her hand, about to take the two dollar bills I'm offering her. Only before she can get a hold of it I snatch it back, hold it up an inch or two out of her reach. "You can have it, but I want the change back, understand?"

She folds the notes, shoving them into her jacket pocket. "Yeah, yeah."

"I mean it."

Angela grins, as Linda passes us by, then shoves me in the shoulder. "Sure you do. You home tonight?"

"Nah." I smirk back at my sister. Happy enough to let her believe I'm gonna be trying my luck with Linda again. Don't need Angela knowing too much or worrying that I'll somehow end up in the same mess as Tim. "I got other plans."

 **~oOo~**

Linda watches as I light a cigarette, pass it to her, before busying myself with a second of my own.

"You okay? You seem awful quiet tonight, Curly." She takes a drag on her smoke, nudges my shoulder with hers and slips her hand into mine as we stand against the wall of The Dingo. Not a great spot, hanging out at the back of the place, a couple of feet along from the dumpster. But it gets the last of the afternoon sun. And there ain't ever anyone else out here. Means we get five minutes peace anyway, away from the chaos of the diner.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I ain't really. Got too much going on in my head right now, too much to do that I'm not entirely sure how to balance it all off. "Only...well...I can't... What I mean is, I ain't gonna be able to take you to see that movie tonight."

"Oh. Why's that? You getting bored of me or something?" Linda is smiling, her voice light. But she don't look away.

"What? No. Course not. Just…" I pause, shift away a little so I'm facing her, her hand slipping out of mine.

"Just what, Curly?" She sighs, swirls of smoke enveloping her as she exhales. "You get a better offer or something?"

I stand there, one shoulder still pressed against the building, trying to figure the best thing to say. Open my mouth, about to tell her what I'm really gonna be doing, stop myself just in time. Less people that know what we're doing tonight the better.

"Jesus, Curly. If you wanna finish with me, then be a man and say it. We've got to be back at work in two minutes." Linda drops her cigarette to the floor, huffs out a breath, then turns away.

"Linda, wait. You've got it wrong, I don't want to break up with you." I grab a hold of her hand, gently pull her into my arms and kiss her, let my hands wander a little as she relaxes against me. Compose myself enough to choke out a few words and sell her some story as to why I'm cancelling things. "Course I ain't dumping you. But I can't make it tonight, is all. I have to be at home."

"Why? What's happened? Is that why your sister was here earlier?"

"Yeah." I take a step back, stare down at my scuffed boots, and hope I don't look as guilty as I'm feeling telling her this bullshit. But Linda doesn't need to know the real reason I'm standing her up, that I'm choosing to spend my night robbing a store instead of having a good time with her. "It's my Ma. She ain't so well. I should be there. Now let's get back to work, 'fore Ricky's out here giving us grief."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks so much for reading, just a short chapter this time around, but all the different threads of Curly's life will hopefully start to pull together soon :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Ten**

"Curly, wake up."

"Get lost, Ange." Turning over so I'm facing the wall, I burrow my head deeper into the pillow, pull the scratchy blanket over my head. Hoping she'll take the hint I'm not exactly in the mood for conversation right now. Not after the way last night turned out.

 _"C'mon, Shepard, stay and have a beer. You ought to be celebrating, the job went good. Better than good. Even Ryan can't find no fault with it." Danny Simmonds grins at me, waits as the rest the gang disappear across the lot towards Buck's place._

 _"Yeah, alright," I agree, still on a high from how well the job went. From how everyone knows it was my plan that made all the difference. From the extra fifteen bucks nestled in my back pocket that took less than an hour's effort to earn, when it'd take me forever to get that much down the diner._

 _Lang's pressing a beer into my hand as I walk in the door, cornering me to talk, singing my praises. Making me an offer that I know I can't refuse._

 _"You and me, Shepard. We got this sorted. Rest of them idiots can't do shit unless someone spells it out for them. Like a bunch of little kids. So how about it? You be my second, official like, pair of us plan things together from now on?"_

 _Get the feeling he's only saying what he thinks I want to hear. Wants to keep me close 'cause he's worried I'm some kind of threat. But I guess that can work both ways, might give me the inside track on what's going on with him, rather than feeling like I'm always the last to know what's going down. And maybe when Tim gets back, when he sees how well I can handle this. Well maybe he'll want to keep me around, too._

 _I take a swig of my beer; don't want Lang to think I'm too keen, that I'm desperate for him to give me this. Let him stew for a moment or two as I make like I'm thinking it over._

 _"Yeah, alright. I'm in," I say eventually._

 _"Cool." He grins at me. "Now let's get another drink. Make this official."_

 _And even though I know I'm pushing my luck and that I should probably head home, I'm buzzed enough—from the job, from this unexpected promotion—that I let Lang talk me into staying for another beer. And then another, and another._

"C'mon, Curly. Please. I need to talk to you, now," Angela persists, poking me in the shoulder.

"Jesus, can't it wait, barging in here when I'm trying to sleep?"

"Ain't you gotta work? I thought you said you had the early today?"

"Maybe I'm sick."

"Oh yeah sure you are. Hungover more like. You smell like the inside of a bar." Angela waves her hand in front of her face, wrinkles her nose. "What time exactly did you get home from your date with Linda? Or were you out all night with her?"

 _We stumble out the place an hour or so later, caught up in the laughter and jokes of the guys as we weave slowly along the sidewalk. Back through town towards home. Almost collide with three girls as we run into the small gaggle of people spilling out of the cinema._

 _"Curly?"_

 _"Linda? What're you doing here?"_

 _Linda folds her arms. "Could ask you the same thing. Thought you said you had to stay home."_

God.

I feel sick.

Can't talk about this now. Not with Angela.

Not have her laughing at what a fucking idiot I am. Don't need anyone else telling me what I already know. Should've known I'd blow it. That I was being too cocky thinking everything was going to work out fine, that I could ever do shit right.

"Go. Away. Angela." I turn my head a little to glare at her. Instantly regretting moving so sharp as a burning flash of pain rips through my brain.

"God, what happened to your face? You been fighting again?" Her voice gets a little higher, faster, as she gnaws at her bottom lip. "You ain't in trouble again are you?"

"Yeah, that's right. Always think the worst of me, 'cause I'm a damn idiot who can't do nothing right," I sneer at her, even though she'd be right to think it. I can't do nothing right. Or least, not more than one thing at once anyways.

"So what happened then? You get jumped or something?"

"None of your damn business, Angela. So why don't you get lost?" I twist my body over a little and stretch my arm back across me, shove at my sister until I manage to push her off the edge of my bed and send her tumbling to the floor.

"Jesus, Curly. You know you're a real jerk sometimes!" Angela drags herself back to her feet then slaps me hard across the back of my already-aching head and then stalks out of my room, the door rattling on its hinges as she slams it, echoed by her own door banging shut barely three seconds later.

Flop back down on my back, sling an arm across my eyes in an attempt to suppress the heavy, fuzzy feeling, the pounding in my skull from the stand-off with a couple of assholes I'd run into a couple of streets from here, happy when they'd picked a fight with me over nothing. Well that and the quarter-bottle of cheap booze I'd found a couple months back stashed in the bottom of Tim's dresser. The one I'd been saving for emergencies—that I'd polished off in the early hours when I eventually staggered home.

Fidget with the bed covers again. Roll onto my side and stare at the empty bed across pressed against the far wall of the room, untouched in so many months. Doubt I'd be getting any sympathy from Tim if he was here either. Not that I deserve it anyway.

 _I try to ignore the fact all the guys are watching us, that all her friends are glaring at me. Shove my hands in my pockets and make like her catching me here is no big deal and shoot her a grin. "Yeah, well something came up."_

 _"Of course it did. So I guess your mom made some miracle recovery then? Or was that all bullshit too? To cover up the fact you didn't wanna see me no more?"_

 _I take a hold of her arm, lead her down the street, in an attempt to get her away from everyone listening. "Linda, it ain't like that, honest to God. I've been with the gang. I had a job to—"_

 _"A job to do? Spending your night sinking beers in some dive bar? And don't you dare deny it, Curly Shepard, 'cause I can smell the booze on you from three feet away."_

 _She turns, starts to walk away._

 _"Linda, wait. How about I walk you home? Give us a chance to talk, let me explain, properly?"_

 _But she shakes her head. "No thanks, 'cause all the explaining in the world ain't gonna change the fact you're a liar, is it?"_

Huff out a breath and roll back onto my other shoulder, facing the wall. I'm fucking useless. Ain't no other words for it. Should have known better than to think things were finally starting to go my way, that I was actually doing something right. There's no way now that I'll be able to sleep no more. Not when last night is on a constant replay in my mind. Shit.

Linda's words echo round and round my head as I torture myself, replaying that moment when she walked away from me and over; trying to pretend that she didn't really dump me. No. I'm definitely not getting no more sleep today.

Maybe I need to do something.

Go hang with the guys, take my mind off of her. Least that's one part of my life that hasn't gone to shit. The gang's more important than some girl. Ain't like it's the first time I've broke up with someone—or been dumped. Couple of days and I'll be wondering what all the fuss was about. Plenty of other girls out there, girls who understand that the gang has to come first, that I don't answer to them.

Push myself upright and swing my feet over the side of my bed, scrabble around for my jeans and pull them on. Find a shirt that don't seem too creased and pull it over my head.

Padding down the hall to the kitchen, Ange is over by the sink washing dishes, while Ma's in her usual place at the table. All I want is a glass of water and some Aspirins, to get in and out without this becoming another drama.

"Hey, Ma."

"You okay, baby? You look tired, are you sick?" Guess I've caught her in one of her more lucid moments, 'cause she's on her feet beside me stretching up and pressing her hand to the side of my forehead, like I'm a little kid, not near enough a foot taller than her these days.

"Yeah, Ma. I'm fine." I reach across Angela to fill my glass from the faucet, then swallow down a bunch of pills. Keep myself to the left of Ma, hoping she don't spot the bruises on my right cheek, the new scabs on my knuckles.

"You're sweating," Ma persists, "are you coming down with a fever? You seem poorly, you should go to bed."

"Poorly?" Angela snorts, setting a pan down heavily on the drainer, grinning as I wince at the noise. "Self-inflicted more like. He ain't sick, Ma, he's had too much to drink is all, deserves to feel like shit."

"Angela! That's a terrible thing to say! You apologise to your brother right now."

"Yeah, right," my sister sneers. "Can't go upsetting your precious baby boy, can we?"

Ma's fussing around me, while Angela continues to make as much noise as she can. And all their noise and bickering isn't taking my mind off things, it's making me feel worse and worse, 'cause seems like every damn thing is my fault here as well.

Need to get out, get some air. Before I say something to either one of them that I regret. Clear my head. Get my priorities straight. 'Cause the important stuff is the gang. Taking care of Ma and Angela. Like Tim would want me to. No matter the cost.

So what if Linda's pissed at me? There's plenty more girls out there if she wants to be all precious about it. I don't need her.

The job though. That's another matter. Guess I could swing by The Dingo. Chance my luck on convincing Ricky I ain't a totla screw up. How mad can he be? AIn't like I've ever missed a shift before. Yeah, I'll risk it, head over. Worst that can happen is he says no.

The sweat is dripping down the back of my neck, my t-shirt clinging to my back. I sure ain't looking forward to facing Linda though. Don't need another scene, slap bang in the middle of The Dingo. No, maybe I'll take my time, get there when she ain't around. Deal with one thing at a time. My head is pounding like a jackhammer again, my mouth dry like an old boot as my stomach growls. Don't know that I wanna eat anything just yet, but a drink sure would go down well.

Think about going to Jay's only the Double R is closer—and I guess it's a good a place to stop as any, so I take the left, head inside, drop down on a stool at the counter, tapping my fingers against the shiny surface of the counter as I wait, glad to be out the baking sun, just for a minute or two.

No. Linda's not the boss of me, should know I got other responsibilities. And it ain't like she didn't know about the gang before she said yes. And we're not exactly going steady or nothing, just 'cause we've been out a few times these past couple of weeks.

Drag a hand through my damp hair, and grin at the thought of those nights I've spent with Linda. She sure looks pretty fine...kisses real good—

"Curly?" Leigh's voice, the soft touch of her hand on my shoulder, makes me jump, makes me snap back to the reality of the fact I'm sat here alone in the middle of the Double R. "Is everything okay? Has something—"

"What? Oh. No, Tim's…there's no news. I'm just…" Just what? An idiot? She doesn't need to know my problems. Settle instead for grinning at her. "I came in for a soda. It's kinda hot out there."

Leigh slips back behind the counter, and I notice she's wearing her waitress uniform, that she's waiting for me to order.

"I'll take a Pepsi. So how come?" I ask, gesturing towards her, to the fact she's back working here, instead of that fancy office job I thought she had.

Leigh shrugs, reaches for a glass. "Guess you heard about what happened with my dad? Kinda lost my job, taking so much time off to look after him, when he was so sick. Before he … I mean, when I lost…" Her voice trails off, as she wipes at the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Shit, yeah, I'm sorry." Force myself to smile at her. I'm a fucking jerk. So fucking caught up in my own misery that I haven't even bothered to ask her how she's doing since her old man died. "But you're back here? That's nice."

"Yeah." She smiles across the room towards the kitchens. "Joe's been real kind to me letting me come work here again. And my friends, too. They've helped me out. So I'll be okay, I guess. Eventually. But how are you, Curly? Rough night?"

I shrug. "I've had better."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." I sip at my Pepsi, turn the glass round and round on the counter, smearing the rings of condensation forming around it.

"So d'you want to talk about it?" Leigh asks.

"Nah, don't wanna hold you up."

She laughs. "Take a look around. It's hardly busy right now. But it's fine. If you don't want to." She squeezes my hand, goes to walk away.

"Leigh, wait a sec." And before I can stop myself the words come spewing out. Only I'm not telling her about how I've blown it with Linda, or the fact I've most likely lost my job, all over wanting to prove myself to that asshole Ryan Lang.

No. I'm talking about Tim. How Ma isn't coping without him. How it's getting closer and closer to being a year since he got sent up there and he still hasn't damn well called or written. Not once, to any of us. How I'm not sure how we're going to get by if he don't get parole any time soon. How I'm terrified that he won't make it home at all.

Christ.

I'm a fucking mess.

I won't cry. I can't. Boys like me, tough hoods, they don't care about nothing. And sure don't cry like little fucking girls in a diner 'cause someone happens to be nice to them.

And now I'm apologising—don't know what in hell came over me, offloading all this shit on her. Leigh sure as hell doesn't owe me anything. Not with how Tim treated her. Hell, I wouldn't blame her if she told me that Tim's an ass and she hopes he never gets out.

Leigh slides a napkin across the table, waits while I compose myself.

"So y'see, Leigh, everything is fucking shit. Same as always. And just for a change I don't know what to do about any of it."

She sighs. "Seems to me you need to quit giving yourself such a hard time and concentrate on the stuff you can change, not the things you can't."

"But Tim managed; he could do it all, take care of everything."

"Seriously?" She laughs a little as she shakes her head. "You really believe that, even now, with him locked up in that place?"

I shrug. Maybe she's got a point. Maybe if Tim had talked some to her, to me—hell to anyone, instead of carrying on like he was untouchable—then he'd be sat here, not me.

"Listen, Curly. You want to know how Tim is then write him, tell him he needs to ring you, or at least do something to let you know he's alright. But otherwise, you need to quit giving yourself such a hard time. We both know your brother was far from perfect. So how about you stop trying to do whatever the hell you think it is Tim would do, and trust your own judgement? Be yourself."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you to everyone reading, and for the reviews, follows, favs etc - I really appreciate all of your support with this :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Eleven**

 _August 1966_

"Hey, Curly!" Angela pounds on my door, not waiting for a response before sticks her head inside. "Hurry up, or we're gonna be late."

I sling an arm across the single sheet of paper that's resting on on my lap and grin at her. "Well look at you, all keen to get to school. Who you hoping to see? 'Cause I'm pretty sure you ain't getting all worked up over the prospect of double math."

"No one." Ange rolls her eyes at me. "Not that I'd tell you even if there was, don't need you scaring everyone off. Just I don't wanna be in trouble the first week back, so how about you get a move on?"

"Yeah, yeah, give me five minutes okay,"

"Why? You still doing your homework or something?"

"Yeah, something like that. So get outta here."

Waiting for the door to click shut, I shift back a little and stare down at the single piece of notepaper, my writing looking as though some drunk spider has danced across the page, so bad that even I'm struggling to read it as I scan over the contents of the brief note I've scrawled.

 _Hey, Tim._

 _I know I'm not one for writing, but I figured if you don't ask then you don't get, right? And as we haven't heard a word from you then I figured there wasn't no other way to make you get in touch, let us know you're okay. Cause you are, aren't you? Okay I mean._

 _Only you know how Ma is. She misses you something terrible. And Angel. I don't know what bull she puts in them letters she sends you, and she'd never admit it, but she cried herself to sleep for a week when you never called or wrote her on her birthday. I mean I'm doing what I can, actually got a real job working the kitchens at The Dingo, with Curtis. The youngest one. Though I expect Ange has already told you that._

Turned out to be whole lot easier than I ever expected to get my job back. I mean, don't get me wrong, Ricky laid in to me big time. Read me the riot act on how if I ever let him down and didn't show up again then I'd be out for good. Yelling and shouting and jabbing me in the chest with his finger. But it's not like I've not had worse before. Like from Harry when he's had a few beers. And anyway, there's no one quite as scary as Tim when he's mad at you. There ain't one person I can think who wants to be on the wrong side of my brother. No, that quiet anger, where you ain't got the first clue what's going on in his head is way scarier than some guy yelling at you.

Smoothing things over with Linda, though, that's been a whole different ballgame. Though at least these days she'll talk to me again. Just about. Even have a laugh with me now and then about whatever asshole customers are pissing her off in the diner. Though I guess Tim don't need to hear about some chick he hasn't even met.

 _And I'm still sticking at school. It's going okay._

I pause, chew at the end of my pen. Yeah, he definitely don't need to know that even with all the help Curtis gave me, they're making me repeat the year. That even worse, I've ended up stuck with Angela in half my classes because of it—and having to be around her and her loud gaggle of girlfriends is a whole lot worse than being trapped in a room full of socs. But then at least I ain't as bad as Mathews, all the times he's repeated the guy'll be thirty or something by the time he graduates.

 _So it's not like you need to worry about us. We're getting by. But it's been nearly a year now so can you call home. Just once. For them? So I can tell them you really are alright._

Satisfied I've said all I need, I scribble my name across the bottom, fold the page in half, about to slip it in the envelope. But then I pause, unfold it and read it one more time, and before I can stop myself I screw it in a ball, toss it across the room where it bounces against the dresser, missing the waste paper basket by a good six inches.

Sappy fucking rubbish.

Tim'd think I was losing the plot for sure sending him that. No. It's best if I leave it. No news is good news and all that. If something real bad had happened to him then the cops or someone would've told Ma. Hell, he's probably too busy running the place to have time to think about us.

Yeah. That'll be it.

Tim the boss, like some fucked up version of the reformatory on acid, where there's always some big kid running the show in every one of the dormitories. Yeah. That'll be my brother, landed on his feet, making the best out of a shit situation. Suppress the images of how Leigh described him on her visit up there: tired, bruised, distant. That sure as hell isn't the Tim I know. Well distant, maybe. He never did share much of what he was thinking. But not the rest. No. My brother is stronger than that, and he don't need me making him think we can't cope without him.

And then Angela's calling my name again. With I sigh, I push myself to my feet, grab Tim's car keys off the dresser and follow her out the house.

"Shit!" she exclaims, coming to a dead stop in the middle of the path, so I almost run into the back of her. "Left my history book at Marie's last night."

"So?" I shrug at her. "She'll bring it in, won't she?"

"No. She's going to the dentist this morning. And you know how Miss Evans is. I'll get a detention for sure. Kinda wanted to get through the first week without having to visit the principal's office."

I grin at my sister. "Ain't no big deal. And he usually goes easier on the girls anyway, so long as you don't give him no backchat."

"But, Curly," she sniffs, "I don't wanna—"

"Jesus." I really don't get why she's so upset. Feels like I spent more time outside the principal's office than I did in class last year. And it's not like Angela's some model pupil who hasn't ever been in trouble before. Junior high she was in detention almost as often as me, if not more. "Go get mine. Only you fucking lose it, you'll be doing my homework the rest the year as well as your own."

She smiles at me. Unexpectedly throws her arms around me in a quick hug as she whispers a thank you, then darts back into the house while I slump down into the drivers seat, rev the engine a little and tap my fingers against the steering wheel, wondering what in hell is taking her so long. The damn book was right there, on the dresser, where I'd dumped it the second I got home yesterday.

Tooting the horn in an attempt to hurry her up, I'm on the verge of heading back inside, just to find out what the problem is, when Ange finally flies back out the door, with my dog-eared history text pressed against her chest.

 **~oOo~**

 _September 1966._

Three weeks later and we're already well and truly settled back in the dull routine. School, work, jobs with the gang. But at least we got the prospect of a little excitement tonight, now it's the weekend at last.

"We're done in the kitchen, you need us to do anything else?" I ask Ricky, silently praying to myself that he don't. That me and Pony can get the hell out of here quick sharp, and head on over to some party that's happening back in our neighbourhood. Get there before the booze runs out.

Takes a few seconds before Ricky even notices we're there, before he finally looks up from the ledgers and papers spread across the table of the corner booth. And when he does peer over the top of his glasses at us he don't really seem like he's awake. He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palm, frowns. "You boys say something?"

"Yeah," Pony says, shooting me a puzzled look. "We're heading out, if you don't need us no more?"

Ricky glances around at the deserted diner, like it's a mystery to him that somehow it's after ten and everyone's long gone, even the waitresses. "You made sure the grill's off? Turned out all the lights back there? Cleaned everything ready for the morning?"

"Yeah, course, we ain't idiots." I grin at him, glad the tension between us didn't last long.

"Then it's all good. You boys get on out of here, I'll see you tomorrow."

Not waiting to be told twice, we're heading for the door. Pony's pretty bummed that he's got the early tomorrow, right after the late, especially since I don't have to start 'til two. Means he's either got to choose between sleeping and partying. But then like I said to him earlier, it ain't like washing dishes needs a whole lot of concentration, and he's been doing it long enough he could probably do it in his sleep anyways.

And you can bet your bottom dollar that that brother of his won't go so easy on him over being out and about every night now school is getting serious again—especially not if those nights out involve him hanging around with someone like me.

Even though it's still September, the night air still feels cool on my bare arms as we cross the deserted lot.

"So you hoping Linda's gonna be there?" Pony asks, grinning at me.

"Nah." I shrug at him. "Well, maybe. But you know we're just friends these days? That she's seeing some guy outta Brumly now?"

"And you're okay with that?"

I laugh, put a fake swagger in my step, an even more false hint of bravado in my tone. "Hell, yes. There's plenty other girls I got my eye on. I mean, I know you think they're all swooning over your pretty boy looks, Curtis, but some of 'em like a bad boy."

Pony shakes his head and chuckles along with me, the pair of us falling silent as a beat up black motor sweeps past, narrowly missing us as it turn into the lot and comes to a screeching halt outside The Dingo.

"What the hell," I mutter, jamming my hands in my pockets as I turn to walk backwards for a few steps, watching as those Tiber Street losers, Ron Douglas and Mark Fitzgerald, emerge out the car.

"Yeah. Fucking jerks, you reckon we should go back? See what's going down?" Pony asks.

"No. Ricky can handle himself. 'Sides, I'm pretty sure he don't want us knowing all his business, especially not with them."

"Yeah, I guess," Pony replies, still not moving. "But ain't you just a little bit curious as to what they're up to?"

"No. And if you had any sense then neither would you. Safer us not knowing anything. Not where they're involved." Pony still ain't moving though, so I nudge him in the ribs, start to walk on down the street. "Come on, Curtis. You know Ricky'll be fine. So how about we go chase up the party?"

 **~oOo~**

Harry's yelling at Ma. Bitching and whining and moaning. Going on and on and on. And Ma's voice is getting more and more strained and higher pitched in return.

Rubbing at my eyes, I sit up, drag myself out of bed. So much for my plans of catching up on sleep this Saturday morning. Ain't likely to get no more sleep with all their racket going on anyways. And with the way Ma's been lately I suppose I ought to go interrupt them, before we end up without any plates left in one piece.

"Morning." I scratch a hand through my hair, start filling the coffee pot and wait. Takes barely five seconds for Harry to start laying in to me.

The same old shit. About how I'm some dumb idiot who's got no chance of ever graduating high school or getting anywhere in life. Well, nowhere except locked up same as my brother anyway. 'Cause apparently everyone knows we're both exactly like our old man.

If it wasn't so crap, I'd laugh at that. 'Cause the old man probably had about as much time for me as Harry does. Never had no patience for me being around. So yeah, Tim might be a whole lot like our dad—on the surface anyway—but I sure as hell ain't.

And I guess that comment pushes Ma's buttons too, cause she's up on her feet now, tugging on Harry's sleeve. "You leave him be. He's a good boy."

Harry snorts, shakes her off and pushes past me to fill his cup. "Good? Don't make me laugh. You need to wise up, Jean. This one'll be joining his brother in there soon enough if all the stories I hear about him and his cronies are even half true."

"What d'you mean?" Ma asks, at the exact same time as I snap back at him.

"Yeah, Harry. Why don't you shut the hell up. You don't know shit," I sneer, bracing myself for the comeback, for a slap upside my head or another tirade of words.

But he swigs at his coffee, glances at his watch and shakes his head, tips the rest of the contents of his cup down the sink. "I'm outta here. I'll see you tonight." And he strolls towards the door, pausing to kiss Ma on the cheek as he passes her, before turning and pointing at me. "And you. Try not to damn well get arrested. Don't need you upsetting your mother. Again."

"Fucking asshole," I mutter under my breath, as soon as his back is turned and his moving.

Harry's almost out the room when he doubles back. Surprisingly quick for a big guy. Shoves me against the wall, his hand across my throat. "What did you call me?"

I glare at him, lifting my shoulders in a shrug.

"I asked you a question, boy. What. Did. You. Just. Say?" He says, jabbing me in the chest with his hand in time with every word.

I'm real tempted. Tempted to repeat exactly what I said—and add a few more choice words on what I think of him too. But then I catch a glimpse of Ma over his shoulder, sniffing and crying, her hands twisting her handkerchief around and around as she babbles away to herself. And I can't do it. Can't make her any more miserable or anxious than she already is. So I swallow down my words and hope he isn't really spoiling for the fight. "Nothing. I didn't say nothing."

"Good." He grabs a hold the front of my shirt, shoves me a little. "Now go take care of your mother, she's a damn mess because of you."

The house falls silent, as the door crashes shut behind Harry. Make myself ignore the stiffness in my neck, remind myself that I got off lightly compared to all the other times before he's tried to make me show some respect or all the times he belted Tim over the years. Instead, I focus on Ma, pulling out the chair, trying to get her to sit down, only I don't even get there far when the phone starts up ringing, harsh and shrill, making us both jump.

Ma's face falls as we both stare towards the hall, like we'll somehow magically be able to work out who is on the other end the line just by staring at it. "Is Harry right? Are you in some kinda trouble, Curly?"

I grin at her, try to make light of it. Pretty sure we won't get the cops looking for us over the small shit we been doing with the gang lately. "No, Ma, course not. It'll most likely be one of Angela's friends." Which is a good guess, given that I reckon ninety per cent of the times the phone ever rings it's for her these days. I turn back to my coffee, not desperate to answer it and be my sister's social secretary.

But Ma's getting fidgety again, edging towards the door. "Are you sure? What if it's not? What if—?"

"Jeez, Ma. Calm down." I set my cup down on the counter just a little too hard, sending the black liquid sloshing over the rim of the mug. "I'm getting it, okay?...Yeah?" I snap down the phone. "What d'you want?"

"Nothing, kid. You're the one desperate for me to call you. So here I am. What's the problem?"

I grip the phone tight as I stand there silent, my words not coming out. Over a year since we last spoke. But unmistakably him all the same.

"Damn it, Curly. You still there?"

"Yeah, Tim, I'm still here. So how's it going?"

* * *

 **A/N:** Huge thanks to everyone reading, hope you enjoyed the update? :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Twelve**

"So how's it going? You had any news on if they're gonna make you do the whole three years?" I ask.

"You said you wanted me to call," Tim says, completely brushing aside my questions, like what's happening to him ain't in anyway important. "So what's the deal? What's been going on?"

"I said?"

Now Tim is actually on the line I should be working through that ever-growing list of questions I've got for him. 'Cause if McAlester has got even one thing in common with the reformatory then I know he won't have long. He's only likely to be on the line for a couple of minutes at most before his time runs out. Either that or some other asshole will get tired of waiting and decide to do something about it. And finding out what's going on with him is way more important than talking about what's been going on here.

Only I'm still stuck trying to get my head around the first part of his sentence to gather my thoughts any sense.

"Jesus, Curly, are you still fucking half asleep this morning or are you just plain stupider than I thought? In your letter. Going on like some old woman about Ma being Ma and Angela getting herself in a state over nothing. So how about you get on with it, tell me what's on your mind? I haven't got all day y'know."

"Fuck." I'm not entirely sure whether I should be yelling at Angela or hugging her right now. Poking her nose in and sending him my stupid letter. "Yeah. Ma's okay. Missing you like crazy."

"Yeah, right. Course she is."

Pretend like I don't hear the thick sarcasm in his voice, 'cause this sure isn't the time for that old argument. And it's pointless anyway. Don't reckon he'll ever understand how much Ma really thinks of him. Not that she helps it either. The way she talks to him sometimes. Or this now, the other extreme. Where's she's too terrified to pick up the phone and say something, anything. Even if none of that is her fault, what with her nerves and all. I clear my throat, carry on jabbering away. "And she's still taking her pills. More of them I reckon. But she's coping, at least."

"And Angela? She there?"

The floorboards creak as Ma appears, hovering in the kitchen doorway, hands twisting around and around each other. Her mouth is working like she's trying to speak but no sound comes out. I smile at her. "It's alright, Ma. It's Tim."

"Tim?" she whispers, brows knitting together into a frown. "Is he hurt? In trouble? What's happened?"

"No, Ma. He's fine. He's right here talking to me on the telephone, come say hello or something." I beckon for her to come over, hoping she will, just to prove Tim wrong about her if nothing else. Show him what I already know. That she does give a damn what happens to him. But Ma isn't moving, so I turn my attention back to answering my brother's question.

"Nah, Ange is gone to work already. She write you how she got a job? Down the beauty salon. Only on a Saturday, she ain't dropped out or nothing, she's still in school."

"What? So all it took for you two to actually start pulling your weight was me getting locked up?" Tim laughs a little, the sound hard, bitter. I can picture him easy enough, as though he's right here in the hall with me. An eyebrow raised as the corners of his mouth lift into a smile. "Would've left y'all to it sooner if I'd known it'd be that easy."

"Yeah. I guess." Find myself laughing too. Even if it's not really all that funny. "So it ain't all bad. But how's it going with you? I heard that—"

"Heard what exactly? Who've you been talking to, Curly?" he snaps.

"No one. Just talk. From guys at school and shit. The ones who've had people sent there. Saying how rough it is."

"Right."

There's noise in the background, yelling, what sounds like some scuffle. And then Tim's voice becomes muffled, like he's got his hand over the mouthpiece. Because I can hear the low rumble of his voice, but I can't make out any of the words. Doesn't sound like friendly chat though. Not from here anyway.

"Tim? You still there?"

"Yeah, kid." He sighs. "I'm still here. So. Have you seen... anyone around?" The hiss of a match being struck fills my ears. Tim's exhales loudly as he takes a drag on a smoke, like he's trying to even out his breathing, not let on that he's getting wound up by whatever is happening up there in the background. "You know. The guys…or anyone?"

"Yeah, I guess. Mostly Ryan or Danny. A few of the usual crowd. Like Curtis and his brothers. A few of the Brumly boys. And—" I'm on the verge of telling him about running into Leigh. How crap things have been for her. Only then I remember all the shit she told me Tim said to her. So me talking about his ex-girlfriend ain't gonna be what he wants to hear. "Well. I've been working some with Ryan and the others. It's going pretty well."

"Right." Tim stops. The only sound for a second or two is the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the metal of the payphone. "Sure, that's cool. Only you be careful, alright? Lang thinks he's smart, but you be sure to watch your back and not take his word for nothing. He doesn't ever think things through. Not properly."

Reckon I could do with a smoke myself about now, to steady my nerves some. Only as I pat at pockets I remember that I don't have any on me. Left mine back in my bedroom and there ain't no point in asking Ma to hand me one of hers. Instead I make do with fiddling with the phone cord, pulling and twisting at it as I speak. Anything to keep my hands busy.

"So do you have any news? Did you get parole? Thought you could apply to be out after a year? Least that's what Ange said. From your trial? Only it's been longer than that already. So did she get it wrong?"

"No Curly. She didn't get it wrong. But things here—Hang on a sec." His voice drifts into the distance a little as I hear him snarling a response back at some unknown person. "Shut the fuck up, asshole. I'll be done when I'm done. More you fucking interrupt me, genius, the longer I'm gonna take, aren't I?"

Tim repeats my name, his attention back with me again.

"Tim? You were saying, about—"

"Yeah? Well, maybe I ain't exactly in any hurry to come on home any time soon."

Tim might think he's doing a good job of selling me on the fact he's alright, but I'd recognise that tone anywhere. The one he always uses when he's putting on a front to some other gang leader before a rumble. Trying to convince you that he could take on the whole world. The one where I know deep down he's on edge, even if he wouldn't ever admit it out loud.

"Shit, Tim. You don't really mean that do you?"

"Look, Curly. Now ain't the time. I'm fine. And that's the end of it. Understand? So how about you quit with the twenty questions. Besides, I'll likely be home before you know it, giving you so much grief that you'll be wishing I was still up here. So you just... keep on doing what you're doing, kid. You don't need me there, you're doing alright."

He pauses, takes another drag on his cigarette, at the same time as someone hammers on our front door.

"Damn it, what now?" I mutter, as the knocking continues, before shouting towards the front the house. Because I won't hang up on my brother. No way, no matter what. "Yeah, yeah, wait up will you? I'll be there in a minute! Ma can you come talk to Tim or get the door or something?"

Ma doesn't move any closer though. Just grips the door frame so tight her knuckles are showing white, and stares down the hall, eyes fixed on the door.

"Jesus. Why does everything have to happen all at once?"

"Welcome to my world, kid. Pretty shit ain't it?" Tim chuckles down the line, a real proper laugh this time, as whoever's at the door knocks a third time and Ma starts calling for me. "Look, sounds like you got your hands full. And I've got to go now anyway. My time's near enough up. Tell Angela I called."

And before I can even say goodbye, he's gone, the dial tone ringing in my ears.

Slamming down the phone, I stalk over to the front door, wrenching it open.

"What the hell, Curtis?" I snap at Pony, who's puffing and panting on the front porch like he's run all the way over here at full pelt. So much for him being some kind of track superstar. Reckon that whole pack of Kools a day he's getting through lately is starting to catch up with him, the state he's

in. "Where's the fire?"

Pony doesn't laugh or even grin me. Instead, the colour drains from his cheeks, his beet-red face rapidly turning pale. Could kick myself. But it's too late, the words are already spilt. Me and my big mouth, joking about crap like that. Not after what happened to that buddy of his up at that old church.

But as he takes a deep gulping breath, and chokes out his words, it seems it ain't what went down last year that's on his mind after all.

"That's what I've come to tell you, Curly. There was a fire. Last night. At The Dingo."

* * *

 **A/N:** Huge thanks as always to everyone who has been reading and reviewing; hope you enjoyed this one too? Just a shorter chapter, but it felt like the right place to stop :)

Oh, and as a couple of my lovely reviewers have mentioned it, if anyone is interested in finding out what is really going on with Tim (as he doesn't really give much away to Curly!), you can read about his time in McAlester in my other story, 'Cars and Girls'.


	13. Chapter 13

**Thirteen**

"Do we have to? Ain't like we've got anything useful to say." I lean back in the seat of the Curtis truck, fold my arms and try not to look at the imposing square stone building across the street. That place isn't exactly where I want to spend my Saturday afternoon. Knew I should've gone looking for the guys instead of heading back to Curtis's place with him this morning. Maybe it's not too late; maybe I should make my excuses and leave Pony to it.

"Yeah, Darry," Pony says, suddenly looking about as keen as me. "What're we gonna say anyway? Ain't like we were there when it happened, is it?"

Pony's eldest brother shrugs, sighs. "Look, you think I want to go in there, either? But we already talked about this. You told me that the cop at the diner said they want to talk to all you kids who worked there. And it'll look better for the both of you if you go talk to them. You really want them turning up at your house, knocking on your door, causing a scene and upsetting your mother, Curly?"

Jesus, no. I hadn't thought of that. Ma doesn't need any more trouble or worry. Not right now. "Course not. Just, I don't know what I'm supposed to say."

"So go in there, tell 'em the truth and get it over with. Tell them that you don't know nothing." Darrel rubs at his forehead, pinching at the bridge of his nose, and fixes us both with a questioning stare. His eyes are icy, hard. Like he's trying to see inside my head, read my mind. Haven't ever noticed it before, but as he sits here questioning us, Darrel reminds me a whole lot of Tim, and it's all I can do to keep myself from squirming in my seat. "I mean you don't, do you? If there's anything you need to tell me, Pony, then spit it out. Before we get inside."

Pony nudges me in the shoulder and points at the truck door, gesturing for me to open it, all the while still glaring at his brother. "Why d'you always have to think the worst of me, Darry? Bet you wouldn't be asking Soda shit like that if the fire had been at the DX 'stead of The Dingo."

"Jesus, Pone," Darrel mutters, the catch of his door popping open as he speaks. "Quit acting like a brat. I ain't thinking that. Just I don't reckon we need any more surprises right now, do you?"

Pony rolls his eyes, sneers at his brother. "And we don't need you to come in, do we Curly?"

And glory but this is all I need. I'm on edge enough about having to talk to the fuzz, without Pony dragging me in the middle of this shit with his brother. Especially when I think maybe Darry has a point. Tim would've clipped me round the ear by now if I'd talked to him that way. I let my shoulders raise and fall in a half-hearted shrug.

"What?" Pony snaps. "You're not seriously taking his side?"

"Course not." I know I should be backing my buddy, but really, isn't agreeing with Darry looking out for him? "Only. Well... Maybe it'd be better for us if we got some kinda responsible adult with us? So the cops don't try nothing."

"Yeah, right. Can't imagine Tim being here, following you around like some old woman, like he doesn't trust you." Pony slams the truck door, drops his cigarette to the sidewalk and grinds it out beneath his heel. Starts to walk away from me.

Swallowing, I ignore the uneasy, sick feeling growing in my gut. The thought that every other time I've ever set foot in here, I've ended up being locked up—either a night in the cells, to 'teach me a lesson' or even worse, heading to the reformatory. How Pony's wrong. Tim would be here if he could. If I needed him. Like he was the last time. Even if no one else would believe my brother would ever do something like that. Offering to confess because we both knew neither of us had been within half a mile of that liquor store that night. How I should've let him instead of trying to act like some hero. How he might be here if I had just let him—

Darry Curtis claps me on the shoulder, brings me back to my senses. "Come on, Curly, how about you quit daydreaming and we can get this over with, yeah?"

 **~oOo~**

"So you boys were both working at The Dingo last night?" The stocky detective, Evans, smiles at us across the table. Friendlier than the last time I met him. The time he got me sent to reformatory. Again. Here's hoping he's not looking for a repeat of that. Tell myself to quit worrying, 'cause he wouldn't be talking to the pair of us together if he was. It's just giving him a statement. A statement of nothing, 'cause I sure as hell ain't dumb enough to bring up seeing those Tiber Street losers last night.

I can't see Darrel, tucked back in the corner of the room. So I settle for taking a sideways glance at Pony. Hoping he might take the lead being as he's the one who always thinks of the right thing to say, can charm the teachers at school easy enough. But Pony isn't speaking. His hands are gripping the edge of the chair beneath his knees as his left leg bounces up and down. Guess it's up to me then.

"Yeah. We were on the late. Left around half an hour after closing. Once we'd got the kitchen straight, ready for the breakfast shift."

"Okay. And Mr, um—" Evans glances down at the file in front of him, lifts a sheet of paper like he's checking a detail, then lets it drop back onto the table. "Mr Hernandez—Ricky—was there when you left?"

"Yeah. He was counting up the takings out of the register. In the corner booth at the back. Same as he does every night."

"Right." Evans looks me up and down, his face twisting into a sneer. "So what exactly is it that a loser like you does for Ricky then, Shepard? Scrub floors? Clean the restrooms?"

"I work the grill." I tilt my head a little towards Pony. "Curtis washes dishes."

"The grill, Shepard?" Evans raises an eyebrow. Scribbles something down on the paper in front of him. "You switch it off right before you leave? Didn't leave the gas on or nothing?"

"Course not! I ain't stupid!" I exclaim before I can stop myself. Annoyed that I've let him get to me, that I've let him know it too.

The detective laughs. "Reckon that's a matter of opinion. From what I hear, the word on the street is that you're nothing more than a second rate imitation of that no-good brother of yours. Only without the brains to keep yourself out of half as much trouble as he somehow managed. Though I guess it all caught up with him in the end. How's he doing, by the way?" Evans grins at me, carries on talking. "And you. In and out the reformatory what is it three, four times now? You're never going to be nothing more than a lousy hood. So I'll ask you again. You sure you turned it off right?"

I stare down at the worn out tip of my boot, count to ten over and over, hope my voice sounds calmer this time. More even. "I turned it off. I know I did."

He ignores me, carries on with his accusations. "You sure Ricky hadn't worked out how useless you are and decided he didn't want to keep you around no more? That instead of going quietly you figured you'd teach him a lesson? Or perhaps all that cash was too much temptation. I mean, Friday's got to be real busy down there; guy must be raking in the dough. Maybe you figured you'd had enough of being told what to do and that you'd take the easy option and help yourself to his money? You've got form for fighting. And stealing—what was it the last time, robbing a liquor store?" He stands, rests his palms on the table as he looms forwards over us. "So perhaps Mr Curtis there and his brother ought to go on home, let you and me have a proper conversation about this, Shepard?"

My blood runs cold, as I realise what he's getting at. That having Darry Curtis in here isn't helping me one little bit. Because this isn't just some friendly chat, a chance for us to give our statements like that old beat cop had told Pony when he'd arrived at the burnt out shell of the diner this morning. That he's looking at me like I'm his number one suspect. Or more likely I'm the easy option to pin this crap on—save him the effort of getting up off of his fat ass and looking any further for the real jerks that've left Ricky half-beaten to death and his business ruined.

"I didn't do anything wrong. Ricky's a good guy. I need that job. So why would I do that? Screw it all up?" I plead. "First I heard about any this shit was when Curtis showed up this morning. I swear I never—"

"You can tell me your excuses in a minute, Shepard." He turns in his chair, gestures to the uniform cop who's been loitering in the doorway. "Jones, you take Curtis and his brother out of here. They can go."

Darrel opens his mouth as if to say something to the cop, then shuts it again. Moves towards the door before abruptly turning towards me. "You need me to call anyone, Curly?"

"Nah." I make myself grin at him. "I'll be fine, ain't no point worrying Ma over nothing. I'll see y'all later."

He nods. "Okay. We'll wait out in the truck, give you a ride home."

And then he's up on his feet, glancing at his brother. But Pony doesn't move; don't even show any sign that he's heard any of this. His head is down, his shoulders hunched as he carries on frowning at the floor.

"Come on, kid, move it." The uniform goes to grab him by the arm, but Pony shrugs him off, leans forward in his seat and stares right at the detective.

"No, Sir. Curly didn't do nothing wrong. I always double check the grill before I leave too. One of Ricky's rules. We have to make sure everything's ship-shape in the kitchens before we go home. And besides. Curly and me weren't the last people to see Ricky last night."

"Oh yeah? Well if it wasn't you two, then who the hell was it?"

There was a car, pulled into the lot. Just as we got to the sidewalk. "

"Sure there was. Can't you come up with anything better than that?"

"My brother is not a liar." Darrel interjects, arms folded as he steps a little closer to Evans, his bulky frame dominating the room.

"Maybe not. But maybe he feels some misguided loyalty to this... friend of his. Maybe he's worried he'll get dragged into trouble with him. Whatever. Suppose you're going to tell me that you couldn't quite tell the make and model, though. That you couldn't see who it was. 'Cause some bullshit fairy tale won't get your buddy off of the hook. So how about you beat it? Leave me to do my job."

Pony still doesn't budge though. Instead he folds his arms and stands his ground, looks the detective right in the eye. "No. I saw it. Was a black Ford, 'bout ten years old, the back left window had been put in. Like someone had put a brick through it. There were two guys. Seen them talking to Ricky before. Looked a hell of a lot like Fitzgerald and one of his Tiber Street cronies to me."

 **~oOo~**

"Jesus, Curtis, what in hell were you thinking?" I demand, jabbing him in the chest as he steps onto the sidewalk alongside his brother's truck.

"Yeah, you're welcome, Shepard."

"Seriously? You think grassing on Tiber Street is a good call? Reckon I'd rather risk another spell in reformatory than have to watch my back looking out for them assholes."

"Look, all Fitzgerald and the others have to say is that it wasn't them. That they were someplace else with their broads or something and the cops won't have a case. And I had to say something; otherwise you'd be in one of the cells by now." Pony grins. "It ain't a big deal."

"No big deal? You won't be saying that when they've got you corned in some dark alley, all set on beating seven shades of shit outta you. Or when that cop puts you on the stand as witness. And here I was thinking you were supposed to be the smart one."

"Hate to say it, Pony, but I reckon Curly might have a point. Fitzgerald ain't gonna let it lie if he thinks you two are anywhere near this." Darrel turns the key in the ignition so the old truck rumbles back into life, revs the engine a little. "Now are you two getting in so we can get out of here, or what?"

* * *

A/N: So sorry it's taken me so long to update – hopefully there's still a few of you reading? Huge thanks if you are, you're all awesome :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Fourteen**

 _September 1966_

"I'll take these." I drop the handful of candy bars, a couple packets of gum and a bottle of Pepsi down on the checkout and smirk at the assistant, sweating behind the counter in the godawful store uniform. All brown polyester, orange stripes, dumb looking cap. "Looking good there, Curtis. Surprised you ain't having to fight the broads off with a stick, wearing that shit."

Ponyboy scowls at me, opens his mouth like he's gonna have a dig back at me, only some old grandma is hovering about nearby, staring at the managers special. A pyramid of cans of creamed corn. So Curtis settles on something less insulting. "Curly. So how's things? Getting your own dinner tonight?" he picks up the first of the chocolate bars, checks the price, starts punching the numbers into the cash register.

"Yeah." I grin at him. "Don't have time to go all the way home, gotta work tonight."

"Yeah?" Pony glances up. "That'll be forty seven cents. You finally find another job then?"

"Sure. Course I have. Everyone wants to hire a hood like me."

"They're hiring here. I could put in a word for you, with Mr Smithson. The store manager."

I laugh, brush away his offer. Don't need his charity. Ponyboy's been working here after school since three days after the fire, because who wouldn't want to hire Mr local-hero, the straight-A student who had his face all over the papers last year for saving them kids? Only time my name's ever likely to be in Tulsa World is in a court report. No, there's no way old man Smithson is ever gonna hire me, not when I'm pretty certain he knows I lift as much as I ever pay for in here—even if he hasn't ever been able to catch me in the act.

"Yeah, right. He don't want someone looking this much of a mess working in his store, scaring off his customers." I wave my hand at the almost-faded black eye, the cut that won't seem to heal properly on my cheekbone.

"Who you been fighting with this time?"

"Nobody."

"Bullshit. If you ain't been fighting, where d'you get the black eye?"

I shrug. "Harry. Was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"What, in your own home? How's that the wrong place?"

"Ain't no big deal."

"There's stockroom jobs, too. Out back. If you were working you wouldn't get caught up in so much shit, wouldn't give him a reason to yell at you. Works for me and Darry anyways."

Christ, that has to be the dumbest thing Curtis has said in a long while, if he thinks that brother of his is in anyway like Harry. I shouldn't have said nothing. Should've kept my mouth shut. Or told him some bull, made up some cool story about how it happened. Need to think before I open my mouth, don't need Ponyboy fucking Curtis feeling sorry for me.

"Jesus, Curtis. You sound like my mother. I'm fine. Harry don't need no reason to be mad at me. Just me breathing is enough for him when he's in a shit mood. And I don't need your help to get no lousy job either. Get it?" I slam a bunch of coins down, grab up my stuff and stalk off, but he calls me back.

"Hey, Curly. You wanna hang out later?"

"Nah. Like I said, I got stuff to do tonight. See you around, Curtis."

 **~oOo~**

The glass breaks easy as anything, and I'm creeping in, grabbing the cash, heading out again quicker than anything.

Don't remember the last time a job went so smooth.

Reaching for a cigarette, I pat the cash that's nestling in my inside pocket, grin to myself. There's more than enough to tide me over for a couple weeks.

My head jerks round at a noise, but there's nothing. Nobody there. A scrawny cat bolts out from behind a dumpster, hissing at me as I swing a boot at it. Probably only that. It'll be my mind playing tricks on me. There's no one else in sight.

Cupping my hands around the match against the breeze, I light up, take a long drag on my cigarette. Flip up the collar of Tim's battered leather jacket. Don't do no good though. The icy winter wind still cuts through me, chills me to the bone

I've made enough for me to have a good night tonight, too. Gonna go have a beer with the guys before I go home, being as it is a Friday and it's a dead cert Ryan and Danny will be out.

Quickest way there is left, past the back the bowling alley. Yeah, a beer would be good. And a girl too. Maybe Linda'll be there, we been getting along a little better again lately. Or if not her, then perhaps that cute blonde outta my math class or—

A fist connects with my face, sends me staggering backwards. Blood trickles down my chin, warm against my skin in the cold evening air.

Footsteps echo out behind me. No effort to be quiet this time, and I'm surrounded. Quick glance over my shoulder tells me there's two of 'em there. Plus the one in front. And nowhere left for me to run. No one likely to see anything, either, even though we're only a couple yards away from the busy street.

"That all you got?" I smirk at the guy in front of me, despite the fact my head is hurting like all hell. And that he got the jump on me. Figure yakking at him'll buy me a few seconds, give me a chance to even the odds back in my favour a little. Say the first thing that pops into my head. Even if it isn't smart or clever. "You fight like a girl, Benny, even my kid sister can hit harder than that."

He don't bother to dignify my schoolyard insults with a response. Just throws another punch at me. Only this time I see it coming. 'Cause this time I'm waiting for it, not taken unawares by him appearing outta nowhere.

Dodging his blow, I manage to get him good with a right hook in return. Watch as he wobbles back, then as he's steadying himself, I swing at him again, knock him on his ass.

Not that it'll make any difference. I know I've got no chance. Not against all of them. But it's worth it, to see that smug grin of his disappear for a half-second.

"Get up off the damn floor, kid." A fourth figure lazily pushes himself away from the wall out of the darkness. Benny's brother, Ron. Drags Benny up off the ground by the scruff of his neck, stares at me. Guess he's finally looking to get even. "So this is the one you told me about? The one that worked at The Dingo?"

Benny nods. "Yep, that's him."

So much for there being no comeback. Had let myself get lulled into some false sense of security this past few months when we hadn't had no shit from Tiber Street. Persuaded myself that they must've assumed it was Ricky who'd dropped Ron and his buddy Fitzgerald in it. Heard the rumours Fitzgerald had shouldered all the blame just to keep Ron out of the shit and out of jail. And with Ricky out of state, recuperating at his sister's, I'd decided that was it. Me and Curtis were safe.

Ron turns his full attention on me, his hands balled into tight fists at his sides. "So you're the one who sold us out. Told the cops. Got my second locked up for six fucking months."

He punches me in the gut, knocks the wind clear outta my lungs. Couldn't answer him even if I had anything worth saying.

"What would that brother of yours say, Shepard," Ron continues, "if he knew you were a grass? Reckon I know. Reckon Tim would tell you that you deserve everything your gonna get. Ain't no one on this side of town should be talking to the cops. Not if they know what's good for them."

Tim. If Tim was here he'd be yelling at me to move. To quit feeling sorry for myself and stand the fuck up. Though if he was here I wouldn't be in this damn mess. He'd take 'em on no trouble. Only he's not here. And it ain't likely anyone else will magically show up and help me out either. So it's all down to me.

"I ain't no fucking snitch," I spit out the words, launch myself at him, despite knowing there's no way on earth I can beat four guys. Don't stop me trying though, might as well do some damage to them, if I can. Not go down too easy. But it's barely more than a couple of minutes before I'm on the floor, curling my body round into a ball as I try to cradle my head in my hands. All in the vain hope it's gonna help protect me as they take turns to kick me, over and over, with hard leather boots. In the gut, the back, my head, ribs. Again and again. Pain rips through me so bad that it feels like my flesh is burning and I can't distinguish one blow from another no more.

"Should've kept your big mouth shut, Shepard. So you make sure to run along and tell all your little friends—no one screws with The Tiber Street Tigers and gets to walk away."

Despite Ron's words, it don't feel like they're slowing down. Hell maybe they're not planning on stopping, and this is it. Maybe my time is finally up and the last thing I ever see'll be Benny Douglas' ugly fucking mug grinning down at me as he kicks me in the head another time.

Bright lights sweep over me. Darkness swallows me.

* * *

A/N: Just wanted to say a massive thank you to everyone who's been reading, reviewing, following and favouriting! Sorry it's been so long since I last updated, hopefully some of you are still reading! Hope you liked it :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Fifteen**

"Ma, look, he's awake."

My sister's voice drifts through the air, as someone grabs at my hand.

Try to turn my head, to locate them. But I'm flat on my back, can't seem to move.

All I can see is the ceiling.

The lights are too bright, stinging my eyes.

Maybe I'll go back to sleep...for a few more minutes.

 **~oOo~**

"Hey, Curly. Wake up."

A hand presses against my shoulder, rough, shaking me.

Angela.

Want her to stop. Try to brush her hand away, but she don't stop. The whole bed is moving, like I'm bobbing about in the swimming baths or something. My stomach is queasy, churning. I feel sick.

"Shit, Ange. Quit it will ya?" I mutter, my voice strangely hoarse. Barely more than a whisper. Don't even sound like me.

My sister leans forward, looming over me. Her bright smile doing nothing to hide the dark circles under her eyes, the smudged mess of her make-up. "So you can speak then? Thought you'd lost your voice or something."

"Where am I?"

"Hospital."

"How?"

"Don't know exactly. Someone saw a fight going down, found you left lying in the gutter. Unconscious. So they called an ambulance. And the hospital called Ma. That was three days ago."

"Shit." I try to push myself a little more upright. Wires and tubes tangle around my arms though and the blankets feel like lead pressing my legs down into the mattress. "Three days, huh? You gotta be kidding me?"

"No. It's the god honest truth, Curly." Ange frowns. Places a small plastic beaker of water into the shaky hand of my one good arm. "I ain't winding you up. Promise."

Slowly raise the cup to my dry lips, clutching it tight like a little kid, as I try to keep it steady, sip at it.

"Nurse said to take it slow. Don't gulp at it."

"I ain't," I snap back, scowling as some of the ice cold liquid spills down the front of my hospital gown. Ange grabs it back, starts dabbing at me with a tissue. Wish she'd stop fussing, but I don't have the strength to brush her away. Let myself slump back against my pillows. "So where's Ma? She doing alright?"

"Ma? Yeah. Well, she ain't too bad, all things considered. You know how she is." Angela frowns. "Not like that first night, when they first brought you here. Think she thought you might not..." Ange claps a hand over her mouth. "Sorry. Only it was bad, Curly. Real bad. Worse than that time Tim got cut up. Remember?"

"Yeah. I remember. So is she here?"

"Outside. The doctor wanted to talk to her again."

"Why?"

"Don't know, maybe they're gonna finally explain to her why you're such an idiot." And just like that my sister's back to her normal annoying self. Grinning at me like a Cheshire Cat. "Probably realised its 'cause she dropped you on your head when you were a baby or something."

"Yeah hilarious." My eyes are heavy. "Wake me up when she gets back, yeah?"

 **~oOo~**

 _October 1966_

"Hey, buddy." Curtis grins at me as he stands on the front step. "Figured you might like some company. Fancy coming down The Ribbon for a bit? Darry actually let me borrow the truck, so we don't even have to walk there."

I glance down the hall. Ma's quiet, settled in the kitchen, and there's no one else around.

"Sure." I pull the door shut behind me, follow him down the path.

"So how you doing, Curly?"

"Oh, fantastic." I smirk at him. "Been going stir crazy, cooped up in the house all the time though. So it's good to get out."

"But you're feeling okay now?" he asks, as the engine roars into life.

"Sure. You got a smoke? Ange was supposed to be getting me some, but she ain't got home from school yet. And she'll most likely forget, anyways."

Pony nods, slides the pack out of his jacket pocket, hands me a smoke, followed by a tatty matchbook. Takes me what feels like forever to light the damn thing. What with this dumb ass cast still on my arm. Can feel his eyes boring into me as he watches. But I ain't gonna ask him for help. Not with this. Not with anything.

"So how's school?" I ask.

"Oh you know, same old shit." Pony shrugs. "You coming back soon?"

My turn to shrug. "Sure. Monday probably. Keep Ma happy at least." Don't need to admit to him how it's bad enough being put in the same grade as Ange as it is; how I'd never live it down if she ends up passing this year and I don't. If they make me sit through it a third time. How even going to school has to be better than sitting around the house staring at the same four walls like I've been doing this past two weeks since I got home.

Instead, I take another drag on my smoke, happy that he's letting it drop. Though when he finally asks his next question I kinda wish he was still talking about school.

"So was it them? Tiber Street?"

"Why, what did you hear?"

Pony shakes his head. "Not much. Soda heard some talk how Ron was bragging about putting you out of action. So now Darry's worrying, thinks I'll be their next target."

"Yeah?" I toss the smoke out the truck window. "Well, he don't need to. I ain't a fucking snitch. Didn't mention your name so he don't need to be so uptight."

"I know. That's what I told him. But you know how he is, he's like an old fucking woman." Curtis grins at me. "Silver lining is he lets me take the truck way more than he used to though. Even if he is back to asking me where I'm going all the damn time. So, d'you wanna hit the bowling alley?"

"Yeah, right. Sure I do." I wave my plaster-clad arm at him, laughing. Wincing as a wave of pain shoots through my ribs again.

"Oh yeah. Well what do you wanna do then?"

I shrug. "Diner, maybe? Kinda fed up with having to eat Angela's attempts at cooking. She makes you seem like a gourmet chef."

"Jesus, she can't be that bad, surely?" Pony raises an eyebrow.

"You' be surprised. Just be thankful she ain't your sister, pair of you would starve if she was."

"So. Jay's then?" he asks, foot on the accelerator as he pulls away again.

"Nah. Let's go down the Double R." I raise my arm again in answer to his unspoken question. "Quieter in there." Like all I'm bothered about is getting jostled by the crowd, rather the fact I ain't keen for the whole world to see me looking this much of a mess. Like I can't handle myself. Like I'm just another useless loser.

Stepping inside, I point to an empty table over near the window, right behind some gaggle of hot broads that I half-recognise from school. Don't make it that far though as someone behind me calls out my name.

"Curly!" Leigh appears in front of me and hugs me, steps back, her hands still on my arms as she studies me. "How are you? My god, I heard you got beat up bad, but, Jesus. Are you sure you're feeling okay now?" She smiles at me.

"Yeah, I'm good. Be better when I get this damn thing off though." I raise my right arm slightly, pointing with my other hand at the grubby, itchy cast encasing it.

"It'll be gone before you know it. You go sit down, I'll bring you over some drinks."

Grinning at the girls as we pass by, we slide into the empty booth. I watch the girls, trying to think of something cool to say. But Pony barely glances at them. Instead, he fiddles with a napkin, folding it over and over before he starts shredding it.

"So Tiber street. What're we gonna do about 'em?" Pony says, elbows on the table.

"Us? Nothing. We're gonna do nothing."

"But you can't seriously be letting them get away with it?"

I fiddle with my straw. "And how in hell d'you suppose I'd do something like that, genius?"

"Well, Won't your gang want to get revenge? Wouldn't Tim want you to get even with them?"

"Don't matter does it, he ain't here. And the gang ain't no match for Tiber Street these days. Not without Tim." I go to take another sip of my shake, when I realise my glass is empty. But Leigh's clearly keeping her distance, hasn't been back near us since she delivered our drinks. She glances across, catches my eye, smiles at me. Maybe I ought to tell her. That I spoke to Tim. That he's okay. Although, it ain't like I can tell her he asked after her or nothing. So maybe not.

And I've given up trying to figure out what Tim might do, what'd be going on in his head. Whether he'd go slug it out with Ron one on one. Which I guess he might. If he was mad enough. Though knowing my brother, he'd more than likely come up with something a whole lot smarter than that. 'Cause Tim ain't nothing if not smart. And maybe it's time for me to start using my head, too.

"So you're really gonna let it lie? Do nothing?" Pony persists.

"Jees, Curtis. I'm hardly in any shape to go looking for a fight am I? Especially one I got no chance of winning. So for now, I'm gonna let it lie. Don't mean I'm forgetting it. Just that maybe I ain't quite as dumb as everyone seems to believe I am."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading.


	16. Chapter 16

**Sixteen**

 _February 1967_

"You're really just gonna let it lie?" Ryan demands, frowning. "Only it don't reflect well on the rest of us, you doing nothing about it. Having people thinking the Shepard gang are nothing but a bunch of pussies. Easy targets."

"Course not." I tighten my grip on the pool cue, glad to have the full use of both of my arms back now. "Couldn't exactly do nothing whilst my arm was broken though, could I? I mean turning up wrapped in bandages would hardly have made them worried. More likely they'd give themselves an injury laughing so hard at me. Then turn around and break my other arm."

"I suppose." Ryan chalks the end of his cue, blue dust staining his fingertips. Paces round the table before quickly settling on his angle and calling his shot.

"And it ain't like we've been doing nothing, is it? Just 'cause we haven't had it out with them face to face yet. All that shit we've been pulling has to be pissing them Tiber Street assholes off by now."

"Still need to make a proper statement though. Let 'em know where we stand. That we aren't prepared to take their shit lying down. Don't you think?" Ryan jabs his cue at a ball, sends it ricocheting around the table, leaving it rattling in the jaws of the corner pocket.

"Oh right? And how exactly are we going to do that then, Lang?"

"So what's the plan? We gonna go jump Ron? Or that loser brother of his?" Danny asks, grinning. "Give one of them a good kicking?"

""Sure. Why not?" Ryan folds his arms, glares at the pair of us. "Show 'em not to mess with us once and for all."

"I reckon Ron'll be terrified at that." I roll my eyes at him. "Even if we take him out, it'll only end up with them retaliating even harder. Us having to spend every damn second looking over our shoulders. And the three of us ain't no match for the Tiber Street Tigers. Not like that, anyway."

"Yeah? You got a better idea then, genius?" Ryan sneers.

I lean across the table, take my time, line up my shot and watch as the ball rolls across the green, sinks into the pocket. "Yeah, I reckon I have."

 **~oOo~**

I shove my hands back in my pockets, pull my jacket a little tighter across my chest. A dark Ford sedan rumbles into view, slows to a stop about twenty yards away, the doors swinging open.

It's freezing. The wind is icy, cutting and burning into my skin, making my eyes sting. But none of that matters. Not now I'm finally gonna have my chance to get even.

I push myself away from the side of Danny's car and stand up a little straighter. Ryan and Danny follow suit. "You two ready?" I ask them, as Ron, Benny and some other Tiber Street jerk climb out the car. Benny glares at us, mutters something to the guy beside him. But Ron don't pause for even a half second. He stalks across the scrubby waste ground towards us, his strides long and purposeful.

Ryan nods at me, his mouth a narrow line, as for once he's got nothing smart to say.

"Yeah, let's do this." Danny is edgy, full of nervous excitement. The only one of the three of us who don't seem to be feeling like this is a terrible idea and not the great solution I'd hoped it might be.

Least Ron's been good to his word, and not brought the whole damn gang. Three of them, an even match—like we agreed. Well even as it's ever likely to be, what with that third guy looking like some kind of muscle bound fucking giant. But there's no one else lurking in the back seat of his motor, no second car in sight, no hint of any back up. Though it occurs to me that maybe he's so sure they'll win he don't need no one else.

"Well look at that. They actually showed," Benny crows, a swagger in his step that you can guarantee wouldn't be there if he didn't have his brother and that other hulking great guy beside him.

Ron steps forwards. Looks between the three of us.

Finally fixes his gaze on me. Guess I know who I'm up against. Swallow down the fleeting disappointment that I won't get to wipe that smug grin off of Benny's face and remind myself what this means. That Ron's seeing me as the one leading this. Not Ryan. Not Danny. _Me_.

"So, Shepard. You're clear on this. We rumble. Here and now. And no matter what the outcome, that's the end of this."

I take a last drag on my smoke, toss the cigarette butt to the ground. We're gonna get thrashed. No two ways about it. My head is starting to throb already, just thinking about it. But the pain'll be worth it. To settle this shit once and for all.

"Yep. Exactly like we agreed, Ron, after this you stay away from us."

"No more shit. Either way." Ron states, his voice even, calm, as he lists out his conditions again. All the same things we bartered over three nights ago, when this thing was set up. "No more slashing my tyres or coming into our territory. No more messing in my business."

"Likewise."

Benny laughs. "Like you losers have got any business we'd be interested in," he snorts.

"Enough already," Ron barks, lifting his hand and gesturing at Benny so he falls instantly silent. Cracks his knuckles and shrugs his shoulders, like he's loosening his muscles. "Let's do this."

Grinning, I clench my hands, finally starting to relax as I swing a fist at him.

 **~oOo~**

"Shit, would you look at the state of you three. No wonder Darry's so keen to label you a bad influence on the kid." Soda Curtis grins, claps a hand down on my shoulder as I lean against the bar. "You know where Pony is tonight, anyway?"

"Should I?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. If Pony ain't even told Soda he's got that date with Martha then he sure as hell ain't hearing it from me.

"So what have you been doing?" Steve chips in. "Getting your asses whipped?"

I shrug at him, touch my hand lightly to my cut eyebrow. Pulling it away, I examine the pads of my fingers. No more sticky redness. Guess it's finally stopped bleeding. And the swelling ain't all that bad, all things considered.

"Fuck off." Ryan smirks at Randle through the purple bruises staining his face. "If you think we look bad, you should see the other guys."

"Why, what's been going down?" Steve asks. "You guys in some kind of trouble, have a job go south or something?"

"Nah." I take another sip of my beer. Hoping to wash away the metallic taste of blood that's lingering against my teeth once and for all this time. "Just been settling some scores, taking care of business. You know how it goes. No big deal."

 **~oOo~**

 _April 1967_

The phone rings. Over and over and over. Stops, then immediately starts up again. Ange ain't appeared, and Ma don't seem to be making any attempt to answer.

Drag myself off the sofa and stumble into the hall, grab at the receiver.

"Hello?" I ask, yawning.

"You took your damn time."

My stomach lurches at the sound of his voice. That queasy feeling that there's something wrong washing over me. I've got used to things being quiet, more settled these last few weeks. Can't imagine he's calling for anything good though. Wonder what in hell Angela's been writing this time to make him get in touch.

"Tim?"

"Yeah, it's me." He doesn't say all that much more. Barks out a few instructions at me, barely answers any of my questions. So as quick as the conversation started it's over, and I'm left scrabbling around for my shoes, keys, jacket.

And I'm almost out the front door, when I double back, bang on my sister's door.

"Hey, Ange, come on. You need to come with me."

"What the hell?" Ange snaps, as I stick my head round her door. "Keep telling you not to barge in here, you jerk."

"Well, if you don't wanna come with me..." I shrug, step back into the hall.

"Didn't say that. Where you going anyway?"

"Downtown."

"Why?" she asks, though she's already grabbing her coat, checking her make up in the mirror.

"Wait and see. Now get a move on, will you?"

 **~oOo~**

"Seriously, Curly. Where in hell are we going?" Ange asks as I take a left, past the bus station." There ain't nowhere down here we need to be so why are you bringing me here? I mean, I got to go meet the girls later, and you're wasting my time dragging around down here. What's going on?"

I spot the sign of that dive bar he mentioned, slow the car a little so I can scan the crowd. And then I see him, standing back, against the wall, arms folded. Apparently spotting us, too, as he stands up straighter. I grin at my sister, point across the street. "That's why."

"Oh my god," she exclaims, scrabbling to open the car door. "Why didn't you say nothing? You ass." Turns to slap me half-heartedly in the arm, before she disappears. Launches herself at our brother like it's been a lifetime since she saw him. Like she's still five years old, not fifteen.

Standing back a couple feet, I study him while Angela chatters away at him. His face is drawn, thinner than I remember. Dark lines of prison tattoos just visible beneath the short sleeves of his shirt. And there's a hard glint ever-present in his eyes, a harshness, that his smile does nothing to soften. But he's here, and he's safe. And really, that's all that matters.

"Hey, Curly." My brother looks up and smiles at me over the top of Ange's head.

"Tim." I grin at him. "So how come? You make your parole?"

"Yeah. Finally." With one arm still resting across Angela's shoulders as she refuses to let him go, he beckons me closer, draws me into the briefest of hugs before he looks me up and down. Laughs. "Christ, kid, what they been feeding you since I've been gone?"

Grinning back, I realise for the first time that I'm about as tall as my brother these days. Probably got twenty pounds on him too. Guess the food in prison is as shit as everyone says, after all.

And then in the blink of an eye, he's back to serious again. "So how's things been at home? Ma okay? Harry still a dick?"

Angela nods. "Pretty much. She's gonna be so happy you're back though."

"Yeah, right." Tim scoffs, turns to me. "And you? Had any trouble?"

I shrug. "No, nothing much. Least, nothing worth worrying about anyways." I toss the car keys across to Tim and grin at him, happy to slip into the passenger seat. "Here, you can drive."

 **THE END**

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A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you've enjoyed this little look into Curly's world. If you're interested, then the story picks up from this point from Tim's POV in _Back to the Start_.

Huge thanks to anyone who's read this or any of my other fics and for the reviews, follows and favourites, you're all awesome :)


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